Band of Brothers
by Ennon
Summary: The series never explained how these Daydream Believers came together so here's a fictional AU tale of how a crosscountry quest led to discovering what they never knew they needed. RIP, Mr. Jones. Previous Chapters revised for clarity. Final Chapter Submitted. Please Review.
1. Chapter 9

Band of Brothers

A/N- "The Monkees" are owned by other folks and I am seeking no monies in this fanfic. In addition, even though the television show used the identical names for the performers for their characters, by no means do I pretend that this story has anything to do with their real lives or their families past or present.

It was early evening when Davy Jones came home after finishing his shift at the stable. He opened the front door of a small, cozy two-story council house in Manchester, England May 8,1965- and did his usual routine of taking off his cap and jacket and leaving them at the coatrack by the front door then taking off his boots to leave them at its base. Before walking into the living room, he brushed some lint from his red turtleneck sweater and blue slacks.

"Mum, ya shouldn't have!" 20-year-old Davy Jones exclaimed as he walked into the room in his while his 43-year-old mother Sal set a lit birthday cake before him.

"Now, Luv! You know the rule. Make a wish and don't tell what it was when ya blow out the candles," exclaimed Sal who held the platter supporting the homemade applesauce cake with lemon frosting that had 21 candles alit.

Sal Jones was a skinny woman in a patterned smock dress,apron and espadrilles with her shoulder-length red hair in a hairnet and glasses of shorter than average height [4'9"].

Davy closed his eyes and thought very hard [as hard as he could] before taking a deep breath and blowing out all 21 candles.

"Happy Birthday, Luv!" Sal cheered as she hugged him.

"Happy Birthday, Mum! Couldn't 'ave done it without you! "Davy laughed.

"Pshaw!" Sal scoffed.

Will ya tell me again how everyone was cheerin' in the streets the day I was born?" Davy asked.

" Aye! Hitler's goons had just surrendered the day before that VE Day an' for the first time in ages, everyone was happy but no one was happier than _me_ gettin' me own baby boy on the First Day of Peace!" Sal recalled while hugging him.

Davy sighed a bit.

" What's wrong, Darlin'?" Sal asked.

"Nothing, Mum," Davy sighed.

"Now, you can't tell yer old Mum it's nothing. I know you too well," Sal sighed while brushing an errant lock of hair from his forehead .

"Well. .. it's just that I wish Dad hadn't been killed by that V2 before I was even born," Davy sighed.

"Davy," Sal sighed while shaking her head.

"Don't get me wrong, Mum. As much as we've struggled, you've been the best mum a lad could ask for but. . . I just would have liked to have had a dad an' maybe some brothers. It ain't fair that bomb had to. .." Davy exclaimed.

At that Sal started to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mum. But seeing that I'm now twenty-one. .." Davy started to say as he put his arms around Sal.

"You just turned _twenty_!" Sal half-laughed.

"But you put that extra candle on the cake like always," Davy replied.

"So? That's one to grow on," Sal snapped.

"Well, seein' that I've likely grown **all** I'm going to, I'm taking that extra year now!" Davy quipped.

"Cheeky lad!"Sal sniffed while unsuccessfully trying not to laugh.

"Mum, I'm really ready," Davy pleaded.

"You're right, Luv. I ain't been fair to ya and you're old enough to know the truth," Sal sighed.

"The truth?" Davy asked as he sat down on the well worn couch.

"Yeah, Luv! Yer dad didn't die in the Blitz from a V2," Sal groaned.

"What?!" Davy gasped.

"Yeah, I was in London helpin' out during that time working in a 'ospital with them bombs dropping but we parted ways without tyin' the knot," Sal confessed.

Davy shook his head somewhat stunned by what she was saying.

"All this time, you've told everyone you were a widow and I was an orphan! Why'd you lie?" Davy asked while looking at her in puzzlement.

"Why d'ya think, Luv? Ya think folks would have done more than spat at us if they knew you'd bin made on the wrong side of the blanket? " Sal shuddered.

"But why did you lie to me?" Davy asked.

" Because I loved and wanted you as soon as I knew I was havin' ya and I didn't want you to have cause not to hold yer head up!" Sal insisted.

"But what about Dad? What happened to him? Was he really a soldier like you'd said?" Davy asked.

"Yeah, but he was a **Yank** instead of one of ours," Sal explained.

" A Colonist, eh. Did he know about me?" Davy asked.

"We only were an item for a short time while he healed an' he soon got posted to join his mates to invade the Continent but he did send this in 1950," Sal explained as she took a key from her house keychain she'd had tied securely to her waist and unlocked a small drawer in the table in front of the couch then took out a postcard.

"It's the Statue of Liberty! "Davy exclaimed as he examined the postcard.

"Read the other side," Sal gulped.

With shaking hands, Davy turned over the postcard and saw his father's handwriting for the first time ever.

" '_Dear Sal,_

_Made it back here in one piece! Send the boy over to see me in the city!_

_Love,_

_Jonesy'_ **Jonesy?!**" Davy gulped.

"Yeah, he was Sgt. Jones so his mates and I always called 'im 'Jonesy'," Sal confessed.

"He's got our same surname, then?" Davy asked.

"Yeah," Sal sighed.

"And what about his Christian nay. ." Davy asked.

"I never got to know him well enough to ask him that," Sal shrugged.

"Mum, he wanted to meet me. Why didn't you take me over?" Davy asked.

"Davy, I was workin' double shifts at the mill keepin' a roof over our heads back then. I couldn't go gallavantin' across the Pond back then an' I 'd have been a horrible mum if I'd sent you all by your lonesome when you were five," Sal explained.

"But I'm twenty-one now,"Davy pleaded.

"Twenty! I'm takin' back that extra candle!" Sal quipped- as she yanked said candle off the cake.

"Mum, I won't give up on ya! I just want to meet him and find out what it's like to be part of a bigger family," Davy pleaded as he hugged her.

Sal sighed and for a few moments became quiet but then responded.

"I guess I wouldn't be a good mum if I didn't let ya fly. But them States are a lot bigger than our little island so please be careful," Sal begged as they hugged.

Two weeks later at the Manchester Piccadilly Railway Station.

"Mum, I can tie me own tie," Davy scoffed as Sal straightened the knot of his black tie and smoothed out the shirt collar.

"You're about to make a big journey an' I want folks to know you deserve to be treated like a _gentleman_!" Sal exclaimed.

"I don't care about other folks- just as long as I get to meet Dad," Davy exclaimed.

"You're sure you're ready for this, Luv?" Sal asked.

Davy sighed and swallowed a bit.

"Mum, I need to see what the States have to offer. Even if I don't make a big splash with Dad, I can't help but there'll be no turning back ! " Davy beamed.

A loud whistle was heard at that moment.

"Last call for the 12:15 London Express!" the announcer proclaimed.

"This is it, Mum! I love you!" Davy proclaimed as the two of them hugged while he grabbed his duffle bag and started running towards the train.

"Take care, Darlin. I pray you'll find your dad and maybe even some brothers!" Sal laughed as she waved while Davy jumped on the moving train and then as soon as it rounded the first corner, allowed herself a good cry.

As for Davy, he started to shake . He was simultaneously excited about his impending journey to a new land with unexplored potential for a reunion with his father and all the opportunities of a new world beckoning him yet scared as each minute on the train put him further and further away from his mother, girlfriends, friends, neighbors, the horses he'd grown attached to at the stable, co-workers, Manchester and all he'd ever known.


	2. Soup's on Davy

Chapter Two- Soup's On, Davy!

Times Square Manhattan Early June, 1965.

Davy Jones, in his black suit, cap and boots was out of breath running straight off the boat's gangplank at Pier 34 to here having been told that Times Square was the city's heart and central meeting spot but he'd followed the grid map of Manhattan as best he could and made it with himself and small duffle bag intact that morning.

He walked up to an older dark haired man about to catch a bus.

"Sir, you wouldn't happen to know a Mr. Jones who'd been in London in '44?" Davy asked.

"Beat it, Limey!" the man sneered as he caught up to the bus and had the bus close its door on his umbrella while leaving him behind.

"Sir?" Davy asked.

"Now, you made me miss my bus and lose my umbrella! Get outta here!" the man fumed.

Davy spent the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon asking bystanders the same question until. .

, Davy saw a middle-aged woman in a khaki coat and red beehive and approached her.

"Ma'am, you wouldn't happen to know a Mr. Jones who'd been in London in '44?" Davy asked.

" Go play in traffic!" the woman scowled.

Davy ran into the Times Square grid.

"Hey! I didn't mean for you to take me literally, kid!" the woman gasped as she grabbed Davy moments before a taxi seemed poised to run over him.

"Sorry, Ma'am. It's just that I've come all the way from Manchester to meet me Dad and I don't even know where to start looking," Davy sighed.

"Here's a $5. Go to the diner on 43rd and Broad and maybe you can find something while getting a bite," the woman sighed as she handed Davy a $5 bill.

Somewhat hungry and dejected, Davy went to the diner and after waiting another hour before a table cleared, he sat down.

"Hey, Dutchy! You got a customer at the Table 8," a grizzled grey haired older woman hostess called out to a tall,skinny young blond man in blue slacks, white collared shirt and a vest with a soup bowl Dutchboy cut.

"I'm on it, Mabel!" 'Dutchy' called back to the hostess.

"Sir,"Davy started to say.

"Yeah, what'll, it be, pal?" 'Dutchy' asked as took out a his menu notepad.

Davy gulped and looked at the menu having no idea what to order as he'd never seen such items as hamburgers or hot dogs back in Manchester.

"Do ya have fish n' chips?" Davy asked.

"Fish and chips? Yeah, sure. Whatever," ' Dutchy' chuckled.

After a time. . .

"What's this? I've spent two weeks at sea an' all ya give me is a sammy and crisps?" Davy asked as 'Dutchy' gave him a plate.

"It's a tuna fish sandwich and potato chips- just like you ordered!" 'Dutchy' scoffed.

"I didn't order that! Take it back!" Davy boiled.

"Nothing doing! There's several hundred tourists who'd like your seat so eat what you ordered," 'Dutchy' insisted.

"OK, I ain't arguing with ya, Dutchy! Could I borrow a city phone book?" Davy asked.

"Yeah, but remember that it's your nickels not ours for the payphone," 'Dutchy' scoffed as he brought Davy the Manhattan directory.

Struggling to balance the gigantic directory while keeping a tight grasp of his duffel bag with his feet, Davy ate the tuna sandwich at the payphone while dialing the first number.

"Aaron Jones Residence? Good. Me name's Davy and I were wonderin' if you'd been in London back in '44"? Davy asked as the phone was slammed shut.

Davy put another nickel in the slot and dialed.

"Abe Jones Residence? Good. Me name's Davy and I were. Hello?" Davy gulped as that phone call abruptly ended.

He was about to cash in a dollar bill for twenty more nickels when 'Dutchy' stepped on a fried egg a bratty toddler at the closest booth had thrown on the floor- and in the process, 'Dutchy 'slipped flat on the floor while he flipped himself backwards and threw the entire tray load of six full dinner plates as well as four cups of coffee up in the air where they soon landed on. .

"Blimey! You ruined me only suit!" Davy boiled- as he reached down to help 'Dutchy' off the floor.

"Oh, and my getting thrown absinthe over tea kettle doesn't matter," 'Dutchy' sneered as he started to stand up

"Tomato soup, mustard, chocolate syrup and. . . petrol? Why did you have petrol on a dinner tray?" Davy asked as he looked at the damage.

"I was going to change my oil after this shift," 'Dutchy' explained.

"And yer car's parked here?" Davy asked.

"Actually, I just remembered, I sold my car last month," 'Dutchy' groaned.

"You dork!" Davy snapped.

"That's TORK! Peter Tork," 'Dutchy' explained.

"Well, Mr. Dork or Tork! You owe me a clean suit! I can't meet me dad looking like this!" Davy fumed.

"As soon as I finish my shift, I'll get your suit cleaned up," Peter sighed.

"OK, I'm holdin' ya to it!" Davy insisted as he momentarily grabbed Peter's right forearm with his own right hand.

"Hey! What happened to my car's engine? I tried to start it but it seized up!" Mabel the hostess gasped as she came back inside.

"Mabel, I can explain," Peter gulped.

Mabel soon caught sight of Davy covered in engine oil amongst other things

"You ruined my car and baptized another customer? That's your fifth one this week! You're fired! Get out while you still can under your own power!" Mabel fumed as she picked up a rolling pin and started to give chase to Peter who grabbed Davy by the sleeve [who was able to grab his duffel bag in time].

"I didn't need that job! Being a waiter wasn't me," Peter explained as they stopped running several blocks later.

"And what is you?" Davy asked as they walked out as the sun set while the many neon advertisement signs of Times Square glowed anew.

"I want my name in lights like all these folks here on Times Square. All I have to do is find the right part and it'll happen," Peter sighed.

"Yeah, like all I have to do is find the right old man an' I'll have a dad," Davy sighed.

"So my dream is fame and your dream is family, huh?" Peter asked.

"Me mum's a great mum an' all but I'd like to have more than just her in the world really be happy to welcome me," Davy explained.

" I guess since I ruined your suit, it's only fair I let you crash in my flat tonight," Peter sighed.

"You're Peter Tork, right? The name's, Jones, Davy Jones," Davy proclaimed as he shook Peter's hand for the first time.

"Oh, you're a spy like 007, right? Cool!" Peter beamed as they started to walk down Broadway on the way to Peter's apartment.


	3. Battty for Murphy

June, 1965- Broadway, Manhattan-

Davy and Peter started walking down Broadway as the theater marquees started glowing.

"Whoa! This is even brighter than them West End theatre lights in London!" Davy gulped- referring to his own homeland's theater mecca.

"Yeah, and one day I'm going to have my name up there along with Neil Simon and 'Fiddler on the Roof'!" Peter exclaimed while pointing to them.

"That why you're here, then?" Davy asked- while Peter nodded.

"So why'd you canoe across the big water?" Peter asked.

"Canoe?! Oh, you just made a funny," Davy groaned.

"Come on, it was brilliant. Could any of these chicks digging you imagine you'd be able to row three thousand miles in a tiny craft with your tiny arms?" Peter laughed as he pointed to some girls walking by giving Davy the eye.

"Well, as I said, I'm here to find me dad!" Davy explained.

"Your father? Did you say your last name was 'Jones'? " Peter asked while Davy nodded.

"Something tells me that it could take awhile," Peter groaned.

"You got that wrong! See, here's the postcard of Lady Liberty and Dad says he wants me to come to the city" Davy explained as he took out the postcard.

"Which city?" Peter asked.

"It's as plain as the postmark . .Crikey, you and your motor oil! It's too smudged for me to read the city now!" Davy fumed as he hit Peter over the head with the now-greasy postcard.

"Hey! Take it easy! I said I was sorry- and is that way to treat the man who's going to put you up for the night?" Peter asked before Davy stopped hitting him over the head.

"Yer right! Well, them marquee lights are quite somethin'!" Davy conceded as they walked a few more blocks away from Broadway to Peter's apartment building.

Davy started to walk into the front entrance.

"Whoa there! We can't go in that way!" Peter gulped.

"Why not?" Davy asked.

"That's only for landlords and their friends!" Peter explained as he put his hand on Davy's shoulder to stop him from going inside.

"And you're. . .?" Davy asked.

"Just a lowly tenant. Here in the States, we tenants have to use another entrance," Peter sighed.

"What?! I thought this is the Land of the Free! Ain't Lady Liberty supposed to keep this sorta thing from going on?" Davy asked as he took out the postcard –recalling how comforted he was seeing the Statue in person for the first time as his boat passed it that very morning.

"She's too busy holding her lamp for the big ships to worry about me," Peter sighed.

"So what are we supposed to. ..?" Davy asked.

"We go in this way!" Peter insisted as he directed Davy to the back alley and pointed to a pile of trash cans.

"The back door's next to them trash cans?" Davy asked.

"Not exactly," Peter sighed as he took another trash can and put it on top of the two- can high stack.

"We're _climbin'_ over dustbins?" Davy asked.

"No dust inside. Just trash but yeah," Peter explained as he led Davy over the top of the trash cans while Davy put the postcard inside his suit pocket while carrying his small duffle bag in trying to climb over them.

"The back door's up there? Two floors up?" Davy asked.

"Not exactly," Peter explained as he reached the far end of the fire escape and climbed aboard- waving at Davy to join him.

"You oughtta tell the landlord how shaky the landing is! A bloke could get hurt!" Davy gulped as they started climbing the extended last ladder of the fire escape.

"I try not to talk to him," Peter gulped.

After climbing eight stories on the fire escape. . ..

"Well, here it is. My apartment," Peter pointed to their left.

"I still don't see a back door. How do we. ..?" Davy asked.

"Like this," Peter explained as he opened the window and climbed in.

" I dunno about this," Davy gulped as he started climbing inside and then stumbled- knocking over the telephone off its table .

"Hey, careful! You could hurt something!" Peter yelled.

"_Now_ you tell me to be careful," Davy groaned as he picked himself off the floor.

"At least the phone's not broken," Peter conceded as he picked up the phone from the floor and put it back on the tiny table.

"So why'd we have to climb inside? Did you lose your key?" Davy asked.

"Uh, yeah. That's it! " Peter exclaimed.

"So why don't ya ask the landlord fer a new one?" Davy asked.

"I told you! I try not to talk to him," Peter explained.

Davy took a look around and saw that there was a tiny kitchen sink and countertop with a two burner electric oven and a small refrigerator with a motor on top to the left. Behind an open door, Davy saw a small bathroom complete with a tiny sink, commode and a shower with a single towel and washcloth on the rack . Lastly two tiny doors next to each other on the wall opposite the window but nothing else inside the apartment besides a small chair and a banjo case next to the table which the telephone rested upon.

"I hate to bug ya but where am I supposed to sleep?" Davy asked.

" Right this way," Peter explained as he opened the door on the right and started to pull the Murphy bed down from the wall.

"It looks like you're struggling," Davy gulped.

"Murphy prefers being vertical instead of horizontal- just like my dates," Peter grunted.

" I wouldn't know," Davy chuckled.

"Ha! HA! Are you going to gloat or give me a hand?" Peter grunted.

"OK! OK! Quite a strong spring this Murphy has!" Davy exclaimed as the two of them jumped on top of the upright bed before it finally started to come down.

"We did it! Now we need to anchor it! "Peter proclaimed as he took the large telephone directories from the corner and put them on the foot of the bed.

"And you'll sleep. ..?" Davy asked.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Peter gulped.

"OK," Davy shrugged.

"It will be no trouble at all," Peter gulped.

"If you say so," Davy shrugged.

"And if there are any mice or rats down there, I'm sure the traps will get them before they crawl their clammy feet over my face," Peter groaned.

"OK. OK. You can sleep in the bed and I'll try sleeping in the chair," Davy groaned.

"As long as it's not too much trouble," Peter quipped.

"Look, you said you'd have me suit cleaned. I'll change into me pajamas so you can do that. Meantime, I'd like to keep trying the Manhattan Joneses for me dad," Davy proclaimed as he went inside the bathroom and took off his soiled suit to hand over to Peter while he started to take a shower. .

While Davy was in the shower, Peter heard something unexpected and remarkable to him.

" _We're gonna hang all our washin' on the Siegfried Line/_

_If theSiegfried Line's still here!"_ Davy sang among other verses.

When Davy emerged from the tiny bathroom in his pajamas, Peter had to ask.

"Davy, where did you hear that song?" Peter asked.

"Oh, the 'Siegfried Line' one? Well, you said you'd clean me suit so I got to thinkin' about that one. Mum used to recite that song when doin' the wash. It had been a morale booster in the early days of the War – before the NAZIs invaded France by way of the Line," Davy shrugged.

"But your **voice**! You sang better in the shower than dozens of professionals I've heard onstage. With a gift like that. .. ," Peter exclaimed.

"Peter, it's just somethin' I've always done," Davy scoffed.

"But with our combined voices and my banjo playing, we could. .." Peter enthused- as he started to reach for the banjo case.

"Look, I'm grateful you're puttin' me up an' all but I'm just in your country to find me Dad. So let me have at the Manhattan Directory an' see if I can strike gold," Davy explained- as he grabbed Peter's right hand to keep it from reaching the case.

A few hours later. . .

"Hello, Mr. Zulu Jones? My name is Davy. You didn't happen to be in London back in 1944? " Davy asked as he got the telephone hung up again in his ear.

"I guess that does it for Manhattan. Let's get some sleep," Peter yawned as both were in their pajamas.

"Hold on. Let me try Brooklyn," Davy pleaded- trying not to laugh at Peter's bunny pajamas and night cap.

"Davy, you're not even sure he's in New York. The postcard said 'city'. You can't go from Aaron to Zulu for Brooklyn. Not tonight," Peter pleaded.

"OK, smarty. I won't do Aaron tonight. I'll start with the B's!" Davy proclaimed.

"What makes you think?" Peter gulped.

"Hello, is the 'B Jones'? It is? Great. My name is Davy and I were wondering if you were in London back in '44? You were? And in the service? Great! " Davy exclaimed while covering up the mouthpiece.

"You've actually hit paydirt?" Peter asked.

"Yep! This bloke were in London back in the '44 and in the Service! It's GOT to be me dad!" Davy exclaimed as put his hand over the mouthpiece while he and Peter started doing a happy dance in their pajamas.

"Hello, and what branch were you in? Th C? What's that stand for? The Women's Army Air Corp. .but ain't ya 'B Jones'? Oh, Miss _Bea_ Jones! Never mind, ma'am! Goodbye," Davy groaned as he hung up the receiver.

"How could you mistake. .. ?" Peter asked.

"I swear she sounded like Boris Karloff as Frankenstein ," Davy groaned.

"Now can we get some sleep?" Peter groaned.

"But I just wanna. .." Davy groaned.

" I know. I never knew my father either," Peter groaned.

"So yer ma raised ya on her own?" Davy asked.

"No. I was a foster kid from as far back as I can remember but once I got fostered by a minister and his wife and she taught me to play the pump organ and banjo. That's why I want to get on Broadway to become a star!" Peter conceded.

"You think you've got a chance?" Davy asked.

"About as good a chance you do of finding your father amongst all the Joneses in the US," Peter shrugged.

"Well, at least I'll have a clean suit when.. . What's that smell?. . ." Davy groaned-as he smelled something burning

"Your suit!" Peter gasped as he bolted to the oven and saw the suit smoldering in the oven.

"It's RUINED! What were you thinking putting me suit in the oven?" Davy boiled- as he saw the many scorch marks where the pinstripes had been.

"Well, after I washed it. .."Peter started to explain.

"In water?! You're supposed to **dry clean** a suit!" Davy fumed.

"Well, afterwards, I didn't want to hang it out in on the fire escape in case we needed to leave in a hurry," Peter groaned as he threw the smoldering remains of the suit in the small trash can next to the oven.

"That's just great! Now I've only got pajamas to me name! If I weren't so tired from me trip and this day, I'd . …" Davy boiled as he pounded the table with both fists.

"OK. OK! I'll sleep in the chair and you can sleep in Murphy!" Peter proclaimed .

With that, Davy climbed into the small bed, pointed his finger at Peter to the chair before Peter switched off the light.

Approximately 3 AM the telephone rang. ..

"Hello, yeah, this is Peter Tork! What do you mean there's no part in Chicago? I'll audition anyway and floor them!" Peter exclaimed as he slammed the telephone down.

Davy started to stir.

"Hey! Mr. Tork! We know you're in there! You're three months behind and if you don't pay up, we're getting the cops after you!" the landlord exclaimed on the other side of the door.

"What's going on?" Davy asked too tired to open his eyes.

"Nothing! I'm just being evicted but have a chance of a lifetime," Peter groaned- as he finished dressing at a fireman's pace.

"Wait! You've ruined me only suit and now you're leaving?" Davy asked in a daze while finally opening his eyes.

"I've got nothing keeping me here. You want to join me?" Peter asked as he grabbed his banjo case and small suitcase.

"In me pajamas ? You must be joking!" Davy scoffed barely awake.

" Okay, then. You can climb out the fire escape in the morning. Get some sleep," Peter shrugged while pointing to the window which he was climbing out of.

"No Dad, no suit. Don't know how things could get any worse," Davy groaned to himself after Peter climbed out .

Without thinking, Davy stretched his right foot- knocking over the Brooklyn phone directory from the foot of the Murphy bed which caused the Murphy bed to spring vertically back into its space in the wall.

"I must be batty trying to sleep like this," Davy sighed as he started to doze off while now sleeping completely upside down inside the Murphy closet.


	4. How Windy Can They Get

"How Windy Can They Get?" Chapter Four-

Chicago, June, 1965-

The back alley of the theatre staging "Fiddler on the Roof" usually had nothing happen besides cats knocking over trash cans in fights but that would change with. ..

"And STAY out!" screamed the rather burly usher as he threw Peter Tork out the back door.

"Hey! Can I help it if I'm taller than three feet tall? I could have played the roles on my knees, you know?" Peter shouted back in frustration as he clutched his banjo case and suitcase.

"Wut 'appened?" a voice asked from inside a trash can.

"Oh, I heard they were going to cast one of Tevye's daughters' suitors for the Chicago run. How did I know it was supposed to be a five-year-old boy? Wait a minute! Why am I telling this to a talking trash can?" Peter asked while shaking his head.

"Cos you treated me worse than trash by leavin' me Atlas over teakettle upside down in yer Murphy back in Manhattan!" Davy Jones boiled as he opened the trash can lid from inside.

"Hey! How did you get . .?" Peter asked.

"The back of Murphy's closet had a trap door that led to a chute leadin' a tunnel to the subway line and I got a ride with hobos outta Pennsylvania Station to 'ere!" Davy explained as he stood in the trash can.

"But you're still in _pajamas_!" Peter gasped.

"Why d'ya think I'm hidin' out in this trash can!? You still owe me a suit and . . !" Davy boiled.

" You think I'm made of money? I blew all I had on the train ticket here and they wouldn't even let me audition. I can't even pay for a cup of coffee much less a motel room," Peter sighed.

"Well, I ain't got any cash either and all I've got to me name are these here pajamas," Davy groaned though thankful he could still feel his passport, his father's postcard and a few notes in his pajama pocket.

"Look at the bright side, you could get arrested for Indecent Exposure and I could get arrested for Vagrancy and we could each get prison uniforms and jail food," Peter sighed.

In spite of it all, Davy started to laugh.

"What's so funny? " Peter asked.

" First I crossed the Atlantic to find me dad in New York and now I've crossed half your country to find you in Chicago! I can't believe I've come this far to wind up in a pair of pajamas!" Davy laughed.

Peter soon laughed himself.

"It is kinda funny when you think about it! " Peter chortled.

"Yeah, and as long as I keep laughin', I can't start cryin'! That's what Mum always said," Davy laughed.

At that moment, Peter caught sight of a small poster on the opposite side of the alley.

"Maybe we could make those pajamas work for us!" Peter exclaimed- as he nudged Davy's shoulder and pointed to the sign.

" 'Amateur Night! Stay in the ring with The Enforcer for one minute and win $200!' – a wrestlin' match? " Davy asked.

"Come on. See the costumes they have in the poster? "Peter asked.

"Looks like they're all in masks but wearing some kinda pajamas, too," Davy reflected.

"You wouldn't look out of place there and you'd win us $200. Plenty of money for a suit for you and a motel room for me!" Peter enthused.

"A room for you?! Why'd you get any of it? " Davy asked.

" 10 percent manager's cut. What else?" Peter smirked.

"Wait a minute! You see the height not to mention the chin on that Enforcer bloke? I wouldn't last two seconds much less a minute in the ring with 'im," Davy gulped.

"Come on! I can see you being a rather artful dodger at that!" Peter chuckled.

"Don't you be trying to bring any Dickensian twist to this tale! You're taller and it's your fault I'm in these pajamas so. ..," Davy scoffed.

"But you'd win the $200 prize. .!" Peter pleaded before Davy jumped out of the trash can and onto Peter's back.

"If YOU won the $200 prize, you'd be able to pay me for a new suit and," Davy fumed as he started pummeling Peter in the back with his fists.

"OK! OK! If it gets you off my back! I'll do it," Peter groaned.

A few hours later with Peter's larger shoes flopping on Davy's smaller feet and Davy swimming in Peter's larger green sweater and larger blue pants- with Peter squeezed into to Davy's pajamas that barely reached his wrists and far above his ankles, the two of them somehow registered to fight the Enforcer.

"Davy, I don't know if I can do it. His **chin** looks even _bigger_ in person than in that poster!" Peter gulped as they made their way through the crowd.

"No turning back down now! We've gotta think of a good tag fer ya," Davy pondered.

"I got it! Peter Repeater!" Peter gulped.

"Nah, that's no good. I GOT it. How about . ..the Torkinator!" Davy exclaimed.

"The Torkinator? What does that mean?" Peter asked.

" I dunno but I got the feelin' that it'll be catchy in another twenty years," Davy shrugged.

"Well, we're almost there so The Torkinator it is," Peter gulped.

"Come on, losers! See how long you can last with me! "The Enforcer growled beneath his mask.

"Does he really want us to find out?" Peter gulped as he started to turn to run but Davy pulled him back.

"The Torkinator accepts your challenge!" Davy exclaimed.

"What's the matter? Your mommy wouldn't buy you any new pajamas after your sixth birthday?" The Enforcer sneered to the crowd's laughter.

"Hey! I can't help what I'm wearing! " Peter pleaded as he bolted into the ring.

"And these look a far sight more grown up than 'is bunny pajamas!" Davy shouted.

"You're not helping!" Peter protested as he started being grabbed.

"That's it! You can do it! Take down The Enforcer!" Davy cheered.

The Enforcer immediately took down Peter with a Full Nelson.

"OWW!" Peter yelled.

"Had enough, Pajama Boy?" The Enforcer snarled as he started twisting Peter's arm behind his back.

"Come on I've just got to last thirty more seconds!" Peter pleaded- as the Enforcer started to pick Peter up and hoist him overhead to spin him around .

"You can make it! Just go fer the 'ead!" Davy cheered.

"The 'ed'? Oh, I got it- the head!" Peter exclaimed as he was being spun around

"You think your puny fists are any match for my head? Ha HA!"the Enforcer snarled.

"No, but my **lips** are!" Peter exclaimed as he suddenly grabbed The Enforcer's head with his arms in mid rotation while in arms' reach grabbed The Enforcer's head- and planted a kiss.

"MWHAH! " Peter smacked.

"What the?" The Enforcer gulped as he dropped Peter back onto the mat while he himself fell- stunned by what happened.

"One minute! The Torkinator gets the $200!" the announcer exclaimed while the entire audience very loudly jeered and booed .

"Foul! Illegal move!" The Enforcer boiled.

"Hey there was nothing in the rules that said I couldn't plant a kiss on you!" Peter smirked.

"Why you. ..!" The Enforcer boiled as he started to chase Peter out of the ring.

"Let's get the money and get outta here! I don't think we're wanted here anymore!" Peter gulped- as he and Davy ran towards the cashier's office with the entire arena booing them.

"It's a good thing the arena's lost and found bin had clothes an'shoes in our sizes," Davy exclaimed a few minutes later as they made their way back to the alley and caught sight of the historic stone Water Tower in the Chicago skyline. [the sole surviving building from the Chicago Fire of 1871] .

"Maybe we should have gone there first instead of doing that rasslin' deal . You and your ideas!" Peter sneered.

"_My_ ideas?! You're the one who ruined me suit an' left me upside down behind the Murphy bed in Manhattan to chase after a kid's walk on role here in Chicago," Davy fumed.

"What are you mad at me for? I asked you to come with me! We got the money! You can start dialing for your dad here in Chicago and I can start my theatrical stardom with . ." Peter pleaded.

"You two aren't starting anything!" a menacing voice in the shadows snarled.

"The Enforcer!" Peter and Davy gulped.

Yes, The Enforcer had caught up to them but instead of being in wrestling tights and boots was now wearing a black pinstriped suit with boots and a fedora –but with the mask from his nose to his crown still in place.

"That's what they called me before you two clowns ruined my career with your stunt!" The Enforcer growled.

"Hey, it worked for Bugs Bunny with Elmer Fudd! I thought it would bring the house down!" Peter half laughed.

" You think everything's a joke?!"The Enforcer snarled as he banged and kicked a trash can across the alley.

"You know, your chin looks even bigger outside the Arena!" Peter gulped.

"Leave me pal alone!" Davy pleaded.

"Oh, you think you can take me on, runt?" The Enforcer growled.

" Yeah! Cos I don't think this is what you're meant fer!" Davy pleaded.

"What do you know what I'm meant for?" The Enforcer sneered.

"Well, for one thing. Did anyone tell you what an incredible sense of rhythm and timing you have?" Peter gulped- closing his eyes expecting The Enforcer to pummel him.

"Peter. What are ya talkin' about?" Davy asked.

"Come on, Davy. The way he kicked that trash can across the alley right after his knocked the other one down with his fist! He'd make an excellent drummer!" Peter exclaimed.

"A drummer?! Crikey, d'ya always havta think of things in music terms?" Davy scoffed.

"Shut up! " The Enforcer growled as he picked up a large wooden stick he pulled out of a crate frame.

"Well, if he's not meant to beat up people what do you think he's meant for?" Peter asked as the Enforcer waved the stick at the two of them and cornered them behind a trash can pile.

"I dunno but I thought it might buy us some time!" Davy gulped.

"This is terrible! I'll never be able to play the keyboards in front of a packed house!" Peter cringed- as he vainly tried to hold his banjo case in front of his face which The Enforcer pulled down.

"And I'll never be able to sing in front of me dad!" Davy shuddered.

"You think I CARE!" The Enforcer growled.

"Well. .." Peter started to say.

"You're **right**. You're the first person to ever say I had rhythm!" The Enforcer exclaimed as he put down the large stick.

"I am?! " Peter gulped.

"Yeah, I ran away from a bad home to join the circus as a kid but wound up being a roustabout long enough to learn never to stand behind elephants when they're raising their tails," The Enforcer groaned.

"So you became a wrestler?" Davy asked.

"Long enough to pay for these swanky threads which took some time since management took almost all the cash but my real dream is to start a band," The Enforcer pondered.

"A band?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, you know like Buddy Holly and the Crickets , the Temptations or . ..those British dudes with the bug name," The Enforcer pondered.

"I'm Davy Jones, that's Peter Tork and did your mum name ya Enforcer?" Davy asked.

"Nah, it's something I picked up on account of my chin," The Enforcer proclaimed as he took off his mask.

"Hey, he's a kid like you, Davy and he doesn't look anywhere close to ugly as I thought he'd be," Peter proclaimed in surprise.

" Yeah, I kinda thought the mask was there to cover up an even worse lookin' face but it ain't bad- fer a skillet face," Davy laughed.

"Skillet face? What does that mean?," The Enforcer asked in puzzlement.

"Dunno but it seems apt," Davy shrugged.

"So what's your name?" Peter asked.

"The real one? It's Dolenz. Micky Dolenz !" Micky exclaimed- somewhat surprised to use it again after so long.

"Like the mouse!" Peter laughed.

"Hey, my name doesn't have an 'e' in there! I'm too tough for an 'e'! " Micky proclaimed as he made a fist and put in next to Peter's cringing face.

"Aw, come on, Micky. Chin or no chin- you don't need to intimidate us. We can 'elp each other," Davy exclaimed- as he unclenched Micky's fist and noticed that Micky put no real resistance so he started to shake Micky's hand.

"You really want to be my friend?" Micky asked in astonishment.

"Yeah. That's it. We can be pals," Davy replied.

"Pals are better than getting beaten up," Peter gulped- still astonished by what he just witnessed.

"Well, truth is I was getting tired of doing the wrestling gig for next to nothing and was hoping to catch up to you to thank you for getting me out of it ," Micky shrugged.

"Wait a minute! You put us in fear for our lives just to thank us?" Peter gulped.

"Force of habit," Micky shrugged.

"Well, you do drum like no one's business and I'm great at the banjo, guitar and keyboards, Davy's an awesome singer and. ." Peter pondered.

"And we've got $200 cash so we can start up a band!" Davy exclaimed.

"Davy, you really want to be in a band?" Peter asked.

"I've thought about it- an' realized that if I'm in a band, maybe me dad will hear about me, see me an' be proud," Davy explained.

"That's great!" Peter exclaimed.

"Yeah! Except. .." Micky groaned.

"Except what?" Peter and Davy asked.

"I'm not so sure Chicago's the best place to launch a band," Micky groaned.

"Yeah, how many bands have you heard of that came from Chicago?" Peter groaned.

"Where do think we should start up at?" Davy asked.

"There's only one place that'll work: New Orleans! I've got an Edsel that should get us there and we'll be a shoo-in on the Louisiana Hayride like Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison and Elvis!" Micky exclaimed.

"But we're not Southern," Peter sighed.

"Davy's got enough of an accent to fit in there," Micky shrugged.

"But I'm English," Davy protested.

"English and Southern both sound foreign enough to us Yankees so why wouldn't you sound local down _there_?" Micky postulated.

"He's got a point," Peter pondered.

"I guess me dad could just as easily live in the Big Easy as the Windy City or the Big Apple. Might as well get ready for the Hayride," Davy shrugged.

Although it seemed like a good idea [to them] at the time, little did any of them know what would await them in New Orleans - for one thing the Louisiana Hayride show was broadcast from Shreveport instead.


	5. Southernn Hospitality

Southern Hospitality (Chapter Five)

_June 29, 1965_

_Dear Mum,_

_Here's a postcard of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis,Missouri. It's a huge beacon like the Tower of London but it's missing its center part which should be done by the year's end and I hope _I'll_ be completed by then in me quest to find Dad. Meantime, I've stumbled on some daft but good cronies Peter & Micky and hope to make you proud by making folks happy with our playing. Peter's goofy but not as off as I first thought and it's hard to believe I ever though I couldda been spooked by Micky at first sight now that he's shed his tough shell and shown he's a total card. New York, Chicago,Lexington, St. Louis, Nashville and next up Memphis. I pray you're well and hope to see ya again soon. Miss ya lots! _

_Love,_

_Your Sprout, _

_Davy_

"Stop! There's a postbox on that corner. I need to drop this card in fer Mum!" Davy pleaded as Micky was ready pull his Edsel out from the gas station next to Highway 70 in Nashville.

"You finally finish a postcard to your mom after not mailing how many dozen of notes we've been seeing you write?" Peter asked.

"I told ya! I couldn't send her those. They . ..weren't ready!" Davy bashfully gulped.

"You didn't tell her everything you've been doing. Didja?" Micky asked.

"I don't lie to Mum," Davy protested.

"Yeah, but I doubt you'd have told her about Frannie in Lexington, Colleen in St. Louis or Mavis here in Nashville," Micky scoffed as they pulled by the postbox.

"She wouldn't think they'd be good enough for you, right?" Peter laughed.

"Come on! They were fun and we did get some good home cookin' and warm beds from meetin' them!" Davy sighed-as he mailed the postcard.

"You mean, _you_ got some good home cooking and warm beds. We had to eat your leftovers and sleep in garages!" Micky groaned.

"Micky, didn't Frannie's sis Bonnie take a shine to ya?" Davy asked.

"Yeah, her sis liked me! Her **brother-in-law** didn't!"Micky fumed.

"I told ya! Frannie said Bonnie was separated. I didn't know she only meant Bonnie was at home while her husband was at work," Davy protested.

"At least Bonnie was his dish's _sister_," Peter groaned.

"Peter how many times do I havta explain? When Colleen told me about her cousin likin' ya, I forgot Marion could be a boy's name," Davy sputtered.

"Marion was actually nicer than Colleen," Micky pondered.

At that Peter swatted the back of Micky's head with the road map while Micky laughed.

Davy smiled - for he knew that it wasn't that long ago that Peter would have been too intimidated by Micky to have attempted that and Micky would have been too volatile not to seriously attempt to have injured him.

"Anyway, it's another 200 miles to Memphis and we're runnin' low on cash so we need to think of how we can paint that town red," Davy insisted.

"The good news is that Beale Street and Sun Records are just a block apart so we can ace both spots at the same time!" Micky insisted.

"Now that you mention it, Colleen was a bit of a pill at that," Davy shrugged.

Late that afternoon in Downtown Memphis

"Them spare ribs at Martha's were fantastic! "Davy exclaimed as the three walked towards Beale Street.

"A Memphis speciality!" Micky concurred while licking the corner of his lips.

"Not as good as Chicago deep dish pizza!" Peter groaned.

"What are you beefin' about? Can the ribs help it that they're not vegetables and you're a vegetarian?" Micky laughed.

"Well, I don't envy ya playin' on an empty stomach when we conquer Beale Street!" Davy insisted.

"What's the plan again, Micky?" Peter asked.

"Davy sings his heart out, you play your banjo and I'll drum when we make our entrance into that club!" Micky explained- as he put the tom-tom drum strap over his stomach.

"But are ya sure this will impress 'em?" Davy asked.

"Yeah, we're re-inventing the wheel for them! It'll be an excellent stepping stone on the way to New Orleans!" Micky beamed.

As they walked into the club, Peter noticed something.

"Hey! How did we suddenly get black pinstripe suits , fedoras and spats instead of our usual eight button shirts, jeans and Converses?" Peter gulped.

"Best we not question it," Davy shrugged while Micky nodded while they went inside the club while a brass band had finished playing to the audience's applause.

"Thank you all for that great welcome! And as cool as those cats were, you'll love us even more!" Micky proclaimed as he, Davy and Peter bounded on the stage.

"Who are these four-corners?" the maître d asked the bouncer.

"I dunno but I don't think they'll have a long engagement," the bouncer shrugged.

"Yes, all the way from England and the mean streets of Manhattan and Chicago, we give you a timeless classic debuted by Ethel Waters 'Am I Blue?' !" Micky announced.

"Get off the stage!" several patrons yelled.

With Micky strumming the tam-tam, Peter playing his banjo, Davy started singing[ in a much lower octave than his usual],

"'_Am I Blue? _

_Am I Blue?_

_Ain't these tears _

_In my eyes_

_Tellin' you!_'"

"BOO! BOO! Get outta here, Four-Corners!" the crowd was heard screaming as several audience members rushed the stage.

Before they knew what happened, Davy, Peter and Micky were forcibly ejected from the Beale Street club.

"I can't believe that happened," Davy gulped.

"Yeah, I don't understand. Your singing was spot on. My drumming rocked and Peter's banjo hit all the right notes," Micky groaned.

"It's not fair!" Davy protested.

"Did they just call us 'Four Corners'?" Peter asked.

"Yeah," Micky confirmed.

"Well, there's only three of us," Peter protested.

"Add up the number of corners and ya get. ..," Davy groaned while making 'corners' out of his thumbs and index fingers.

"Squares," Micky groaned.

"They called us _squares?!_ How could they!" Peter shuddered.

"Look, maybe just going on stage without even auditionin' wasn't the best approach," Davy pondered.

"You're right! We'll audition for Sun Records then they'll record us like they did Elvis!" Micky insisted.

"Got any plans fer that audition?" Peter asked.

"Funny you should ask," Micky smirked while Davy somewhat became somewhat skeptical but couldn't think of an alternative.

"What happened to those suits and why are we now in bib overalls and where did Micky get the piglet?!" Peter gulped as he noticed the abrupt change of attire.

"Don't question it," Davy sighed- as he picked up the tambourine he'd never noticed before.

"Just consider it what we need for Sun Records,"Micky insisted as he cradled said piglet in his left arm as they walked into Sun Records

"Can I help you boys?" asked 22-year-old Bernadette Perkins, the brunette beehived receptionist.

"Well, Miss we were wonderin' . .?" Davy started to asked.

"Allow me! Ah understand your company made a truck driver into a stah!" Micky exclaimed in a somewhat bogusly thick attempt at a Southern accent- as he took her right hand in his and started to kiss it.

"Well, Elvis actually did it himself but we were happy to. .. ?" Bernadette added- as she blushed a bit while pulling the hand away.

"Well, mah pardners an' ah thought ya might want to record folks besides truck drivers for a change and we're about as fah from truck drivers as you can git!" Micky exclaimed.

"Our studio's completely booked solid and. .." Bernadette gulped.

"Ah knew you'd help us, liddle lady! Wait'll ya hear our take on the classic by Stephen Foster," Micky beamed.

"But I'm not. ." Bernadette protested.

"No, Mistah Fostah ne'er wrote any song called 'Bernadette' but I'll bet he was thinkin' of a gal like you when he wrote this number! Hit it Davy and Peter!" Micky exclaimed .

Peter and Davy gamely played banjo and tambourine respectively while Micky started to strum the tam-tam while cradling the piglet before clearing his throat and singing

"_Oh, I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee_

_And I'm bound for Louisiana my own true love for to see!_

_I said, Oh Susannah!_

_Now don't you cry for me!"_

The group got no further.

"I knew we should have sung all the lyrics instead of skipping to the chorus," Peter groaned.

"Maybe we didn't seem country enough," Micky pondered as he put down the piglet who ran free.

"Not country enough?! At least Peter and I had boots on with these overalls!" Davy protested-pointing to Micky's bare feet.

"It's summer and I thought I might as well be comfortable auditioning," Micky shrugged.

"Face it, Micky. None of us are country folks!" Peter groaned- as they were suddenly back in their original clothes while walking back to Micky's Edsel.

Peter momentarily looked in surprise at seeing himself, Davy and Micky back in said attire but then just shrugged his shoulders.

" And none of us are bluesy," Davy sighed.

"Yeah, but we've each got gifts and we've each got talents! We just have to find the best way to pitch 'em!" Micky exclaimed.

"You think we'll be able to conquer New Orleans and the Louisiana Hayride even if Memphis wouldn't have us?" Peter asked.

"There's only one way to find out," Micky gulped as they started the final drive to New Orleans.

"Let's just hope we make it before the last of our cash runs out- to say nothing of yer Edsel!" Davy proclaimed.


	6. Getting Kicks on Route Sixty-Six

"Getting Kicks on Route 66" (Chapter Six)

A/N- Here's a little background. Although the US Interstate system had started being constructed during the Eisenhower Administration [1953-1960], it would not be completed until the 1980's which is why when the Monkees were on the road, they more often than not used local highways as opposed to Interstates. During the 1960's perhaps the most famous of these highways was the one known as Route 66 [now largely the same route used by Interstate 40] .which had amongst other claims to fame a popular jazzy song called 'Get Your Kicks on Route 66' I know I had said things would happen in New Orleans but I decided to shift the main action to another locale. Hope you all like it [and please review].

July, 1965- East Texas Panhandle on Route 66 Somewhere East of Amarillo.

Micky was driving his green Edsel with Davy riding shotgun and Peter in the back seat.. . .

"_Get your kicks on Route 66_!"Micky, Davy and Peter all sang the final verse (and title ) of the classic song together with Micky drumming the dashboard[while steering with his knees], Peter strumming his banjo and Davy shaking his tambourine.

"Whoa! That was _groovy_! You think we 'ave a chance at the Ten Gallon Festival?" Davy asked as he put down the tambourine.

"Sure. Lubbock's just a left turn from Amarillo. What can go wrong?" Micky replied.

"That's what you said about New Orleans," Peter scoffed.

" How could I know that they wouldn't let us march in with the other 'Saints' and get put in Preservation Hall?" Micky shrugged.

"I knew something was off there. Whoever 'eard of a riverbank where ya look _up_ instead of down to see the boats?" Davy scoffed.

"This time in Lubbock, we're sure to get them cowboys fired up! There's nothing that could stop. .." Micky started to say as suddenly one loud clunk followed by several smaller ones were heard coming from the engine.

"What's going on?" asked Peter- as the engine suddenly stopped altogether.

"That gas attendant in Oklahoma City said Route 66 would climb up to 3,600 feet before we got to Amarillo so maybe the engine's adjusting to the altitude," Micky gulped while frantically grasping the steering while and pumping the gas pedal.

"By cuttin' off? " Davy asked.

"You only rode ponies back in England not cars so how would you . ..?" Micky cringed while the Edsel finished decelerating from 70 MPH to zero.

"Horses that don't breathe don't _move_ so why should a car be diff'rent?" Davy asked.

"Come on! Turn over! " Micky frantically yelled as he kept turning the ignition and pumping the gas.

"Maybe the choke?" Peter offered while Micky tried pulling the devise on the dashboard.

"Ya can't choke somethin' that's already **dead**!" Davy groaned as all three of them got out of Micky's Edsel.

"You think you could tell what's wrong?" Peter asked while Micky opened the hood.

"No, " Micky admitted as he looked at the engine from above.

"Then why. .?" Davy asked.

"Because that's what they always do on TV when cars break down," Micky groaned.

"We still have half a tank of petrol an' the engine ain't steamin' so it can't have run outta petrol or overheated," Davy surmised.

"And none of the tires got flat," Peter added while pointing to them.

"Very good , Geniuses! Got any ideas what we should do next?" Micky fumed as he kicked the engine.

"We could call the auto club and have them send a tow truck!" Peter exclaimed.

"With what?" Micky asked.

"If we had one of those wireless, radio car telephones," Peter sighed.

"Why did you suggest . .?" Davy asked.

"He asked if we had any ideas," Peter shrugged.

"I guess we'd all better be hoofin' it to nearest garage," Davy sighed.

"But Amarillo's 15 miles away!" Peter protested- while pointing to a sign.

"Surely there are closer garages between here and Amarillo. They can't build a highway without garages every few miles," Micky scoffed.

"How many garages or other buildings have ya seen since Oklahoma City?" Davy scoffed.

"Besides, there's probably plenty of cars and trucks that will give us rides –especially with Davy here," Micky exclaimed.

"Ya expect me to thumb for rides on me own?" Davy asked.

"Of course not. I'll go with you and Peter can stay behind to guard the Edsel," Micky exclaimed.

"Wait a minute! Why am I the one walkin' and why can't _you_ stay behind?" Davy asked.

"Yeah, Davy has to take a lot more tiny steps to reach Amarillo than I would. I could go with you!" Peter exclaimed.

"Because, it's my car and the cute cowgirls cruising Route 66 will more likely stop for him than you. No offense," Micky shrugged.

"Offense taken anyway," Peter grumbled.

"Noted. That's your hangup . Anyway, you're bigger than him so you can ward off any car rustlers that try to take this baby," Micky replied while patting the green Edsel's hood.

"Well, it is his car and we 'ave no other way to reach Lubbock so," Davy sighed.

" So we're all cool, right?" Micky exclaimed.

"Yeah, I guess I can practice some songs on the banjo until you get back," Peter sighed while he and Davy grimly nodded.

" No problems. We'll be back here in no time!" Micky exclaimed as he started walking towards Amarillo with Davy reluctantly following.

Sometime later while Micky and Davy were walking through that treeless, empty section of Route 66. . .

"I can't stand this silence! Say something!" Micky begged.

"Are ya sure ya wanna hear wot I 'ave to say?" Davy grumbled.

"I know we've been walking for three hours. .. ,"Micky started to reply.

"Try four an' how many garages ' ave we seen?" Davy asked- as he looked at his wristwatch.

"None but there's gotta be one around the next bend over the next hill," Micky pleaded.

"What bends? What hills? This highway's flatter an' straighter than Olive Oyl! And **you** are about the only thing I've seen on this highway since we left Peter an' the Edsel," Davy groaned.

"Aw come on! It's not so bad. Didn't I give you my Pepsi?" Micky asked.

"Two hours ago and thanks for remindin' me the main reason I'd like to see a tree about now!" Davy groaned.

"OK, so we haven't had any cute cowgirls pull up and give us a lift yet but we're better off than Peter right now," Micky pleaded.

"How's that?" Davy asked.

"We've got each other," Micky shrugged.

"Don't ya feel bad leavin' him all by his lonesome ?" Davy asked.

"You're right but I couldn't think of any other way to make sure the Edsel stayed safe while we went to find a garage," Micky sighed.

"Poor bloke, all by himself in this prairie with just his banjo to keep 'im company," Davy groaned.

Suddenly Davy heard something.

"Don't tell me ya got somethin' in yer eye," Davy scoffed.

"Go ahead. I'm just a rotten friend to you two. Dragging you two all the way to this desert for this dumb dream," Micky sniffed.

"Come on, Micky. It ain't so dumb. It's been kinda good singin' and travellin' with you two and it would a great way for me dad to find me. I just hope Peter's gonna be okay," Davy sighed.

"Maybe we should walk back . .." Micky suggested.

"It's almost sundown now and we're a lot closer to Amarillo than the Edsel," Davy gulped.

Suddenly, they heard howling.

"Coyotes! " Micky gulped as he grabbed Davy by the shoulders.

"How do ya. ..?" Davy asked.

"Because Wile E. Coyote made that sound when one of his Acme contraptions backfired on him a time or so while chasing the Road Runner," Micky exclaimed.

"Poor Peter all stuck in the Panhandle Desert with all them coyotes coming out at night," Davy sniffed.

"Maybe _their_ Acme contraptions will backfire on them," Micky suggested.

Suddenly , they heard a truck horn tooted 'Yellow Rose of Texas'.

"A truck! We're saved!" Davy exclaimed as a red Ford tow truck slowed down.

"Not just any truck but a tow truck. .and it has the Edsel! "Micky exclaimed as he and Davy jumped up and down while grabbing each other's arms.

"Howdy, boys!" a buxom woman of about twenty in red pigtailsand a plaid blouse under a cowboy hat exclaimed as she rolled down the driver's side window.

" There they are, Cassie!" Peter exclaimed as he waved from the inside of the truck cab.

"Peter?!" Davy and Micky gulped.

"My radio broke so I rolled down the window and heard some of the finest tunes this side of the Pecos and I had to stop to hear 'em and when he said you all needed this car towed, I was happy to oblige," Cassie explained while Peter raised his eyebrows a bit triumphantly.

"Well, we hate to trouble you but could you give us a lift?" Davy asked.

"It would be kinda silly considerin' that the garage is just 20 feet ahead," Cassie giggled.

"It's a mirage!" Micky gulped as they saw in the waning sunlight the building in question, Elmer's Garage and Tackle Shop - with the city lights of Amarillo lighting up like a Christmas tree in the background.

"No, it's a **garage** but if you want to call it a mirage that's your hang up," a voice called from within

"And you are. ..?" Davy started to ask- as he noticed a large pair of lumberjack boots sticking out of the underside of a Pontiac chassis on the left bay of the two-car wide garage.

"That's Elmer's help called Smitty!" Cassie exclaimed.

"Smitty is it? " Micky asked.

"So, you've corralled us some business there, Cassie?" a short and fat middle aged man with the nametag 'Elmer' in grey coveralls and a cowboy hat called out as he walked towards the group.

"Elmer, I was on the way to Albuquerque and saw this fine young man in the road next to this car and was happy to oblige," Cassie shrugged.

"Cassie, how many times have yer Ma and I told ya not to pick up strangers –especially longhaired weirdoes ," Elmer sneered.

"But he looks just like Kit Carson and wait til ya hear how he sings 'Darling Clementine'!" Cassie exclaimed with a blush while she ran her hair through Peter's hair as he stepped out of the tow truck.

"He's no Johnny Cash- and speaking of cash. ." Elmer started to say.

"Don't worry. You won't havta pay my carryin' fee until after you've fixed their car. I 'll be back for it next time on the way to shop in Dallas," Cassie explained.

"Can't you stay?" Peter asked.

"No, I've gotta get back the tow truck back to Ma's garage in Albuquerque by midnight!" Cassie sighed as Elmer and Peter untethered the Edsel from the tow truck and before anyone else knew what happened, blew Peter a kiss as she zoomed away with a wink and blowing the 'Yellow Rose of Texas' horn on the way out.

"Whoa! How did you get so lucky?" Micky scoffed- as he banged Peter's back.

Davy saw the garage's bathroom door being open so, with a barely perceptible tip of his cap, he excused himself and bolted towards it then slammed it behind him with not a moment to spare.

"I guess it had to improve after being stuck in a broken down car in the middle of nowhere," Peter blushed.

"Your luck's gonna run out if you don't get this scrapheap outta my garage before the count of ten!" Elmer fumed.

"Wait! Shouldn't you be telling us how much it'll cost to have it checked out?" Micky asked.

"How much can ya afford?" Elmer asked with a raised eyebrow.

"About $2.53 in loose change and four Pepsis from the six-pack thrown in," Micky confessed.

"We could **sing **for the fee!" Davy pleaded from behind the bathroom door.

"The bills don't get paid by others' tonsils," Elmer scoffed.

" Now, hold on, Elmer. Seein' as these folks ain't from these parts and there's nowhere else for them to hitch up for the night, I think we can waive the fee, " 'Smitty' offered from beneath the Pontiac chassis.

" Is that so, Smitty? Well, I ain't runnin' a charity," Elmer sniffed.

"I'll do the diagnosing myself for free on my own time," Smitty insisted- as Davy, Micky and Peter were rather stunned to hear again from man in the lumberjack boots.

"Free? They look like a buncha baboons with near as much hair as you, "Elmer scoffed.

"Baboons ? Now would the Amarillo Chamber of Commerce like to find out you put down some fine visitors?" Smitty asked.

"I guess not," Elmer conceded.

"So, let me get to see what their car's problem is so we can send them on their way," Smitty scoffed.

"Very well, but it'll be your hide if any tools come up missing," Elmber scoffed as he stomped off- closing the garage bay doors behind him.

"Wow! Did you hear him tell off the old man like that? That was groovy!" Davy exclaimed as he emerged from the bathroom and turned to Peter and Micky.

"Yeah! Way cool!" Micky agreed.

"I'd like to shake his. ." Peter turned around to greet Smitty only to see that he'd already slid underneath the Micky's Edsel chassis underside with his lumberjack boots alone sticking out.

"Wait, Smitty! We'd really like to meet you and. .." Davy pleaded.

"Do you want me to check out what's bugging your car or not?" Smitty scoffed.

"Well,. ." Micky started to say.

"Then let me stay where I am and try not to knock down the oil pans while you're here," Smitty scolded from beneath their car.

"It's pitch black out now and those coyotes are howling like a Greek chorus," Peter gulped- as he opened the garage door a bit.

"Maybe we should try to find a place to stay for the night," Davy pondered.

"On $2.53 and four Pepsi bottles?" Micky scoffed.

"No reason you folks can't stay here," Smitty offered.

"A garage ?" Davy asked.

"We've slept in garages before," Peter groaned.

"Actually, you and I have. Not His Majesty Mr. Jones but this time he doesn't have a cute dish to give him a warm bed so he'll have to stretch out in the car like us peasants," Micky scoffed.

"No, I can't let ya back inside your Edsel while it's on the rack. It might tip over and that would end me bein' able to check out your car," Smitty explained as he pointed up to the car on the rack with his left lumberjack boot.

"We're going to have to sleep on a garage floor?" Davy gulped.

"It beats havin' to sleep outside with all them coyotes and prairie dogs!"Smitty shrugged.

Davy, Micky and Peter all tried to get comfortable on the cement garage floor using as many combinations of shirts, jackets, socks and shoes for pillows and blankets but none of them were able to get any sleep whatsoever.

It was about 2AM when Micky had had enough.

"Peter, Davy! I can't get any sleep on this floor," Micky whispered while pounding his fists on it.

"Shh! You'll wake Smitty!" Davy pleaded in whispers.

"Naw! You hear that snoring! Paul Bunyan would run for cover from that noise from our lumberjack grease monkey!" Micky whispered with a sneer.

"Good point but we're stuck here so. ." Peter pleaded in a whisper.

"So let's make the best of it! Davy, you climb back into the Edsel and. ."Micky insisted in a whisper.

"Why me? I don't wanna tip ' er over and I won't get anymore sleep!" Davy protested in a whisper.

"Not to sleep. To get Peter's banjo, my tam-tam drum and your tambourine. You're the lightest of us" Micky explained in a whisper.

"We're gonna have a jam session?" Peter whispered.

"We'll wake Smitty for sure!" Davy protested.

"Not a chance. A tug boat would be quieter than his snoring!" Micky whispered.

"Anything would be better than just laying on concrete," Peter conceded with a whisper.

Soon the trio were singing Chad and Jeremy's hit from just months earlier 'A Summer Song' with Peter playing the banjo , Micky the tam tam drum and Davy the tambourine.

Every so often the trio would look at the underside of the Edsel chassis and see Smitty's lumberjack boots still parked beneath.

"That was quite amazing but I think it still could use something else," Davy pondered.

"Like what?" Micky asked.

"I don't know . Maybe a keyboard," Peter offered.

"We've already been over that. We can't tote a piano or church organ on the Edsel, " Micky scoffed.

"We can't tote a _harmonica_ on it now," Davy scoffed while pointing to its spot on the rack.

"But you're right. There is something missing like maybe a . .." Micky replied.

"A guitar?" Smitty scoffed.

At once, Davy, Peter and Micky gasped at seeing the rather tall man they knew as Smitty walk towards them in his white socks and grey coveralls with the name 'Nesmith' on the tag while seeing that he didn't look like others they'd seen in this part of the country.

"Hey, he's got muttonchops!" Davy exclaimed- as Smitty approached them with a twinkle in his eye.

"Where? All I see are sideburns sticking under a blue wool hat!" Micky scoffed.

"I haven't seen anyone wear a wool hat since Chicago. Why wear that instead of a ten gallon hat?" Peter asked.

"You ever try keeping a cowboy hat on when the winds stir up in the Texas prairie? Amarillo's smack in the middle of where the Dust Bowl hit hardest making high noon look like midnight," Smitty recalled.

"That's right. An' Mum told me she remembered seein' some of that dust reach England when she was a girl," Davy recalled.

"How could she tell?" Peter asked.

"That light tan Yank prairie dirt stood out from the usual British coal soot," Davy explained.

Micky and Peter both gulped.

" Anyway , it's a lot easier to clean oil from a wool hat than a cowboy hat," Smitty scoffed.

"So you think you can offer up a Jimmy Rodgers twang to our sound?" Micky asked.

"Not exactly!" Smitty scoffed as he reached behind the tool bin and pulled out . . .

"A Gretsch 12 String?! Where did you get one of those?" Peter gulped.

"It took some wheeling and dealing- far more cunning than him with the Pepsi," Smitty laughed.

"Wait! Who are you? Your name is Nesmith but you go by Smitty," Davy gasped.

"My given name's Michael but my friends call me Mike," Mike insisted.

"So why do folks around here call you Smitty?" Peter asked.

"It's easier for them to learn than Mike, I guess," Mike sighed.

"I'm Peter Tork, this is Micky Dolenz and that's Davy Jones!" Peter exclaimed while he shook Mike's hand.

"And your group name is ' The Baboons', right?" Mike asked.

"We don't exactly have a name. We're just trying to make a splash on the music scene but. .." Micky started to explain.

"But no one seems to like our country, blues, rockabilly, Dixieland or Broadway tunes," Peter groaned.

"But you dudes were jammin' somethin' fierce with that Chad and Jeremy song just now," Mike scoffed.

"Well, yeah, we dig that new sound but that's not the big ticket," Micky explained.

"Well, no wonder you haven't even gotten a name. You're trying to play what you think other folks wanna hear- not what 's in your soul!" Mike proclaimed.

"You know. You're the first person not to say that all we needed to do was get suits and haircuts to make it big," Peter said in amazement.

"Haircuits? Why would you want that?" Mike laughed.

"Yeah, the girls back home say I look Shakespearean with longer hair," Davy laughed.

"And in addition to our Founding Fathers having long hair, girls love to run their fingers through mine," Peter beamed.

"What about, Mick?" Mike asked.

"Well, I used to wrestle wearing a mask so I got to quit getting haircuts since no one knew who I was without the mask," Micky explained.

"That seems kind of a silly reason to . ." Mike chuckled.

"Besides, the barber I went to did nothing but tell the same three clean knock-knock jokes," Micky groaned.

"Knock-knock?" Mike asked.

"Whose 'dere?" Davy asked.

"Oh, knock it off," Micky scoffed.

"Well, all I know is that long hair helps rock these sideburns and I've been called a lot worse than a baboon over it," Mike laughed.

"So wanna join us for a jam session?" Micky asked.

"Me and Gretsch are there!" Mike proclaimed- as he plugged it into the amp.

The next morning, Elmer opened the garage door at 6AM to find all four of them still ensconced in their jam session.

"Smitty, you spent the whole night wasting time with these baboons instead of trying to fix the engine?" Elmer scoffed.

"No, sir. I worked out exactly what was wrong about 11 PM," Mike admitted.

"You did?" Micky, Peter and Davy all asked.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Micky asked.

"I didn't want the jam session to end. Ain't often we get troubadours in these here parts," Mike shrugged.

"So, what's wrong with the Edsel?" Micky asked.

"Oh, the timing belt busted and took out a whole slew of other parts in the process," Mike groaned.

"But you can fix it, right?" Davy asked.

"Yes and no. We'll have to get replacement parts and Edsel parts ain't so easy to come by so it would be another week to get 'em and then it would take about four days to fix everything," Mike explained.

"Four days?" Peter gulped.

"But the Ten Gallon Festival's tomorrow!" Micky groaned.

"Actually, today. We've been 'ere since yesterday, remember?" Davy sighed.

"Oh, yeah. We need that car fixed at once or. ."Micky tried to insist.

"Or what ?" Mike and Elmer asked.

" Seeing as we only have $2.53 and four Pepsi bottles to our name, we can't exactly make any demands," Peter sighed.

"Yeah, especially since it would cost about $400 to fix everything," Elmer insisted.

"How are we gonna get $400 by this afternoon?" Davy gulped.

" Well, there's a rodeo in town that'll pay $500 to whoever can stay on a bronco bull named Generalissimo! If any of you survive, I'll bury the Edsel with you!" Elmer laughed.

"That's great! You can ride the bull, Peter!" Micky insisted.

"Me? I'm a Broadway star wannabe not a cowboy. Davy could do it," Peter gulped.

"Me? " Davy gulped.

"You rode horses back in England and you rode on my back back in Chicago to get me to wrestle Micky so you're a natural," Peter pleaded.

"Horses ain't the same as bronco bulls. Micky's ridden elephants! Let him do it!" Davy scoffed.

"Elephants are tamed but bronco bulls aren't! " Micky gulped.

"If anyone could do it, I could," Mike offered.

"Wait, you'd do that for us, Mike?" Peter gulped.

"Yeah, what do you have in common with these weirdoes beside that hair?" Elmer sneered.

"Elmer, so long as I can make music, I don't need much sustinance but I think they've got something I could use and I've got stuff they could use," Mike pleaded.

"What? You've been nothing but a drifter from your teens onward and I've given you a cot, sink, commode and shower in the back. What can you give them, you sheepdog?" Elmer scoffed.

"Guidance," Peter pondered.

"And what about paying me for the Edsel overnight and Cassie's towing fee?" Elmer asked.

At that Micky, Davy and Peter all huddled together (momentarily becoming football players) while the three whispered a storm.

"Are ya sure, Mick?" Davy was heard to whisper

"How did they change clothes like . .. ?" Elmer started to ask.

"You get used to it," Peter shrugged- and in that instant they were back in their regular attire.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm tired of it," Micky conceded.

"What'll it be?" Elmer asked.

"I got this baby used two years back and it's been nothing but trouble. Go ahead sell whatever parts you can to compensate yourself for the towing fee," Micky insisted.

"You mean ?" Mike started to ask.

"We'd like you to join us if you'd like Mike!" Davy exclaimed.

"Join them?" Elmer asked.

"I've been workin' just about every garage from here to the Pecos and it's been a long time since there's been anyone who'd really miss havin' me around," Mike sighed.

"You're quittin' on me, Smitty?" Elmer scoffed.

"If we have to get around on foot until we find new wheels, we'll be happy to do it with him and. .." Peter proclaimed.

"Not so fast. I never said the Gretsch is the ONLY thing I have in the world," Mike shrugged as he walked the group to the back of the garage and pulled a drop cloth off a modified Pontiac GTO convertible – with various colors or green, yellow, black and white on the chassis.

"WHOA!" Peter, Davy and Micky all gasped at the car.

"It call it my Frankenmobile! I've made it with the GTO core from all kinds of different parts that I've saved from cars but I never really had anywhere to go or anyone to take anywhere," Mike shrugged

In a few minutes, they'd taken everything from Micky's former Edsel and Mike took his Gretsch and what other few belongings he had and they loaded them into Mike's car.

" Are you baboons still here?" Elmer snarled while raising a rifle.

"Don't call us 'baboons'! " Davy protested.

"Call us- THE MONKEYS!" Peter proclaimed before he and the others made chimpanzee sounds and drove away.


	7. California Here They Come

'California, Here They Come!' (Chapter Seven)

September,1965, San Francisco Peninsula Promontory off the Presidio Fort.

Although Mike's 'Frankenmobile' still had its multiple colors as it had when the others first saw in Amarillo, Texas, the four were quite excited to use it at the prospect of using it to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge.

"We've been followin' the signs for the Bridge for miles but I still can't see it for the fog! How is we went from desert to fog just like that?" Davy asked with a finger snap as he rode in the backseat with Micky while Peter road shotgun with Mike driving.

"It's California," Micky laughed.

"Yeah, and that fog was so thick that the Spanish didn't see this here San Francisco Bay sailin' past it for two centuries and only after they hiked overland to build the San Francisco Mission did they spot it!" Mike laughed

"Glad one of you Yanks stayed awake durin' history class," Davy laughed while Micky and Peter gave Mike puzzled looks.

"Can we sing that song now?" Peter asked.

" What better place to sing it?" Micky asked with a laugh.

"I thought it might have worked crossing from Nevada," Peter shrugged.

"San Francisco's a brand new city for us with tons of coffeehouses to build our fanbase at! "Micky proclaimed.

"Okay, men! Here it is! Now's our chance!" Mike proclaimed as the mercurial San Francisco Bay fog cleared at that instant to reveal the toll booths framed by the gigantic international orange colored towers of the world-famous Bridge, and the awe-inspiring, blue-green Golden Gate strait with the Marin [County] Peninsula visible at the other end.

"WHOA!" All four of them gasped as Mike threw in the money for the toll and then started the drive.

"Now we can be like the Ricardos and Mertzes on 'I Love Lucy' !" Micky proclaimed as they were driving while Peter started strumming his banjo.

The four of them sang 'California Here I Come' with special emphases on the lines 'a sunkissed miss says 'Don't be late! That's why I can hardly wait!/(with Micky and Davy cocking their eyebrows)- then all four screamed/sang 'Open up that Golden Gate! California Here We Come!' while trying to hear themselves above the Gate's perpetually strong winds.

"Wait a minute!" Peter said as they finished the song and their drive.

"What's the matter? Are ya going to point on that the Ricardos and Mertzes sang it crossin' the _Hudson_ instead of the Golden Gate?" Davy asked.

"It's not that but we just drove AWAY from San Francisco and I don't think we can pay the toll to drive back," Peter groaned –as the fog once again obscured the Bridge and the view of the rest of San Francisco Bay.

A few weeks later driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. ..

"Frisco was like I'd never imagined anywhere could be but you think LA could be a good change?" Peter asked.

"That Jack a-Go Go Club will surely be our ticket in LA these next two weeks!" Micky proclaimed.

"You think one day we'll actually play at a club where they won't pay us _less_ if we play instead of just waiting and bussing tables?" Peter asked.

"Our sound's rocking more everyday!"Davy exclaimed.

"Yeah, but we can't keep staying in broom closet roach motels and flophouses," Micky sighed.

"Yeah, for one thing, every time we need to jam, we need to scramble with our instruments to find somewhere outside –or else the neighbors complain," Mike groaned.

"Yeah, who'd have thought a **bowling alley** would have gotten so upset?" Peter recalled.

"Gents, since there are four of us, that means we can each raise a spot of cash an' see about rentin' somewhere away from tone deaf neighbors," Davy offered.

"We can work that out after we get to the club," Micky insisted.

"We'd have bin there by now if you three hadn't kept havin' me pull over so you could keep swimmin' diff'rent beaches on this here highway!" Mike groaned.

"Come on, Mike! You liked them beaches,too," Davy shrugged.

"I never imagined there could be such beautiful spots. I mean we got to swim with _sea otters_!" Peter said in awe.

"Not to mention a few surfer chicks!" Micky said with an eyebrow twitch.

"That you lost the phone numbers of," Davy groaned.

"Could I help it if the paper got soggy in my trunks before that rogue wave washed the pulp away?" Micky protested.

"In any case, it's after one and the club won't even be open by the time we get there. We need to think of somewhere to crash," Mike pleaded.

"Relax, we can do that in the morning! What can possibly go … ?" Micky started to ask as suddenly the other three screamed. . .

"MICKY!"

"Don't say it!" Mike ordered while shaking his right fist.

"Say what? You don't really think bad things happen just because I happen to say what can possibly go. .." Micky shrugged.

BOOM! A loud clap of thunder was heard to crack the sky which immediately heralded a downpour of what seemed to be Biblical proportions.

"It's coming too fast and hard for me to see one foot in front of the windshield. We've gotta pull over," Mike insisted a few minutes later as the windshield wipers seemed to shred at that moment.

"We're no longer on the Pacific Coast Highway. Where are we?" Davy asked.

"I think I saw a sign that said a place called 'Malibu' a little bit back," Peter recalled.

"How many more miles to LA ?" Davy asked.

"Can't really say, Tiny, but we 're pullin' over until this monsoon's played out," Mike insisted.

"I don't see any lights on in that big ole house on the hill," Peter noted.

Micky looked at his watch. .

"We've been pulled over two hours now and that storm still is going strong! How long do we have to stay inside this car?" Micky asked.

"Until the storm passes. We still can't see anything in front of us," Mike proclaimed while the winds howled.

"At least let me crack open the window for some fresh air. It stinks!" Micky pleaded.

"An' whose fault is that, Mr. 3rd Black Bean Burrito?" Davy scoffed while glaring at Micky.

"Regardless, we could still use some fresh air," Micky insisted.

"No,no! Micky!" Peter, Mike and Davy all yelled.

"Come on, babies. What can possibly happen if I. .?" Micky asked as he squeezed his arm behind Peter's back and managed to roll down the passenger side window a crack which caused a great gust of wind to blow into the car. .

"Now the canvas roof's all torn! Great goin', Micky!" Davy boiled as he hit Micky in the arm.

"Oh, no! Our instruments will get all soaked and ruined! We've gotta get inside!" Peter pleaded.

"Not to mention the upholstery and, oh yeah, us catchin' pneumonia," Mike fumed.

Despite his years being on his own topped off with his wrestling gig, with all three of his fellow bandmates glaring at him, Micky felt decidedly threatened and outnumbered.

"Guys! We're right in front of a house! Why not see if anyone's home and ask if they'll at least let us in?" Micky pleaded.

" Would YOU let four wet strangers into your house?" Davy groaned.

"Micky's right. No point in us stayin' soaked inside the car. We need to at least see if we can try for a little shelter," Mike sighed.

They stepped out of the car slamming the doors as quickly as possible and were about to make a run up the hill to the front door when suddenly, their normal attire became yellow, rubberized rain gear- complete with hats and boots.

"You know, this ain't half bad a skill. You sure none of you could do this before Chicago?" "Mike asked while the other three shrugged.

"No one's answerin' the door. Try tappin' the window!" Davy pleaded.

"Wait! We can't go in! See that sign?" Peter groaned- as he pointed to a large sign posted on the right next to the front door.

_Private Property No Trespassing Allowed_

"Why so skittish? The first night we met in Manhattan, we had to climb the back alley fire escape and climb into your window to get into your flat," Davy recalled.

"But we weren't trespassing. I'd paid the first month's rent- two months later," Peter gulped.

"Relax. There's no way you can be sure the sign means we can't go inside," Micky smirked.

"No? But it says. …" Peter protested.

"Yeah, yeah, but don't you see that it needs punctuation perception?"Micky asked.

"'Punctuation perception'? Wasn't what that oddball outside that Haight Ashbury coffeehouse was trying to sell me?" Peter asked.

"The one with the braids?" Davy asked.

"More guys are wearing their hair like that these days. What's so odd. ..?"Micky started to ask.

"On his _forearms_?" Mike added with a gulp.

"Yeah, that's the one," Peter recalled.

Micky shook his head a bit.

" Err. Not to worry. It's not for you but for the **sign**. All we have to do is clarify what it's supposed to mean and we're in," Micky proclaimed as he took out a large black magic marker out of Peter's rain jacket right pocket.

"How did you know I had that?" Peter asked.

"Never you mind. By putting a question mark here, an explanation point there and a period there- viola!" Micky exclaimed as his attire suddenly changed to that of, striped-shirted, beret capped Parisian artist.

_Private Property? No! Tresspassing Allowed._

"I see but you'd better change back to the raingear before your beret gets all soggy,"Peter sighed- which prompted exactly that to happen to Micky's attire.

"I ain't sure goin' inside's such a hot idea," Mike gulped.

"Got any other ideas how to keep from getting soaked with a ripped canvas roof during a downpour too strong to see to drive ?" Davy gulped.

"No, I can't say I do," Mike groaned.

After a few moments of pounding on the door and windows. ..

"There's no one home. Let's get back to the car," Peter gulped.

"Not so fast! All we have to do is find a rock and we can break upon a window and climb in," Micky pondered.

"But that would be vandalism along with breaking and entering," Peter sputtered..

"How is you've been on your own longer than me and you're still worried about. .?" Micky groaned.

"You think we should crowbar the door then? " Davy asked.

"Nah, just turn the knob a bit back and forth and push the door open," Peter shrugged as he did so to his stunned bandmates.

"How did you. .?" Mike and Micky gulped.

"I picked this up only to use for emergency purposes and this counts," Peter protested.

The others quickly ran back to Mike's Frankenmobile to retrieve their suitcases and instruments from getting soaked then ran back to the newly opened door.

At first glance they seemed taken aback by the pitch black interior but then got startled when lightning struck and flashed two totem poles on opposite walls and a large stuffed eagle on a perch on one wall with two large, leafless trees outside the balcony alcove window.

"This place is haunted!" Peter gulped.

"Relax, there's no such thing as. .." Mike started to say.

"Being dry and haunted beats being soaked and not," Micky gulped- as the four of them took in the rather unusual furnishings inside this abode with each flash of lightning.

"Since it's got stained glass windows, maybe it's a church and can't be haunted," Davy offered as he pointed in that direction.

"WAIT! See that?! There is someone **here**!" Micky gasped as he pointed to the silhouette of someone sitting on a chair.

"Look at that goofy grin on his face!" Mike gulped.

"Sir, we're sorry to have . .come into your house but our car's roof has a tear and it's pouring outside," Davy sputtered.

"Maybe he didn't hear you," Peter offered.

"You want me to walk up to him?" Davy whispered.

"We'll do it together -all of us!" Mike insisted as he pulled Micky back with them whom he'd noticed had started to back up to the door.

"How come he's still grinning like that?" Peter asked while the three approached the individual on the sofa

"Maybe he's like the Joker in 'Batman' comics," Micky pondered.

"Maybe he's deaf," Davy considered.

"Did you say. .. DEATH?" Micky gasped.

"No, d-e. .." Davy started to say.

Suddenly an especially loud clap of thunder shook the entire darkened house.

"Let's get OUT of here! I don't care if we get pneumonia!" Peter pleaded.

The four of them tried running back to the front door but. .

"Peter! Come on!" Davy pleaded.

"I can't! I'm stuck here!" Peter shuddered.

"Stuck? How?" Mike asked.

"He's hooked my right keying finger with some kind of noose. I can't lose that finger!" Peter sobbed.

"Pull it loose!" Micky ordered while Peter pulled as hard as he could and got his finger untangled from the 'noose'.

"What are primates like you doing in a place like this?" a tinny man's voice was heard to ask.

"He's ALIVE!" the four Monkees shrieked.

"Hey, I freed my finger!" Peter gulped.

"Come on! Let's get out!" Davy pleaded.

"Wait! The raincloud's driftin' away and lettin' the moon shine," Mike pondered.

"Moonshine? " Micky asked.

"Now, let's not get in a panic. The man on the chair's a mannequin! "Mike started to laugh as the moonlight lit up the interior more clearly.

"A mannequin? " Peter gulped.

"Yeah, now that I think about it. There was one dressed up as a lady Gypsy fortune teller at the circus I ran off to. There's nothing to be afraid of, Peter," Micky laughed.

"You were almost out the door before the rest of us!" Davy snapped while Micky shrugged.

"Just pull the string and you'll hear a whole slew of different recorded sayin's, Shotgun," Mike offered as he patted Peter's should while he pulled the mannequin's string.

"My name is Mr. Schneider. I'm so lonely I could even use **your** company!" Mr. Schneider's recording recited.

"Maybe we've got a place to crash after all before the gig," Peter considered.

"Yeah, while the rest of ya were carryin' that last load of equipment inside here, I spied us a garage 'neath the main house and parked Frankenmobile there so she'll get a good chance to dry out before we fix the roof," Mike explained.

"And look at that window! It's floor –to-ceiling like Buckingham Palace with a smashin' view of the beach below this hillside," Davy said in awe.

"And where's there's beach, there are beach **bunnies**! We're staying!" Micky exclaimed with a smirk.

"I guess there's no harm in crashin' for the night but we gotta head to LA to see about our gig an' finding a flat to stay in first thing in the mornin'! "Mike proclaimed.

Having changed out of their soaked clothes and into dry ones, they each found spots to crash on the many chairs and sofas around the main living room and did so for a few hours.

The next night, they finished their gig at Jack-a-Go-Go and pondered their next move.

"Even with that advance, there's nowhere we can afford to stay near the Sunset Strip even the flophouses," Mike sighed.

"Why not get back to where we crashed last night in Malibu?" Davy suggested.

"Tiny, we were only there cos it was a port in the storm. We can't do that again," Mike groaned.

"Why not? It won't cost us anything and it has more room for us to spread our stuff and practice than anywhere we've been since we started this venture," Micky pleaded.

"But, didn't you read the sign next to the one you altered? It's condemned. And remember, it's got no juice or plummin'," Mike groaned.

"There's a petrol station a mile down the road we can use for the WC," Davy suggested.

"Is that near the gas station with the bathroom?" Micky asked.

"Micky, that's what he meant," Peter scoffed.

"I'm not so sure, Davy," Mike groaned.

"And we could get enough extension cords to hook up the amps and guitars to that gas station's outlet so we could practice," Micky added.

"That may be but wouldn't that be stealin' it?" Mike asked.

"We're paying for the gas so we're helping to pay for the juice," Micky reasoned.

"And there's a public beach two miles down the road with public showers we can use to keep clean and wash our clothes in," Peter added.

"Public beach with public showers? Man, think of all the chicks we could meet **there**!" Micky beamed.

"None of us have lived in a real house for the longest time- and two weeks there would be awesome. Please Mike," Peter pleaded.

"Man, y'all are worse than newly weaned puppies at a steak house. OK, we'll stay there but just through the gig!" Mike insisted.

Although, they had to commute back and forth from Los Angeles to the club, they spent a great deal of time at the North Beachwood Drive address dusting the abandoned abode, scrubbing the windows and walls ,revamping the Frankenmobile while practicing and jamming –despite the nonfunctioning plumbing and 'borrowed' electricity courtesy of the gas station a mile down the road- with Davy taking 'instant' Polaroids showing the progress as they went along.

"Now that we've fixed the canvas roof, we need to settle on a color for her. Joseph may have had a Coat of Many Colors but that's no good for a car," Mike insisted.

"How about blue like the sea?" Davy suggested.

"Or yellow like the sun," Peter offered.

"Maybe black like a cool cat," Micky suggested.

"Those ain't too good. I GOT it!" Mike insisted.

After several coats covering up all traces of the former colors. ..

"Awesome! It's got the color of the Union Jack!" Davy said in awe the next morning.

"You mean the Lone Star Flag but I ain't arguing with you," Mike laughed.

"Or my favorite fruit- the tomato," Peter enthused.

"Tomatoes are vegetables not fruits. Besides, it reminds me of the color of passionate girls'. .. lipstick when they show interest," Micky said with a leer.

"Well, it's almost finished. We just need put our name on it!" Mike insisted.

"Can we do that later? I'm hungry and we need to get some supper," Peter groaned.

"Too late for supper, Shotgun. We need get some breakfast and I know just the spot," Mike enthused.

" At that diner where our pants stuck to the chairs?" Davy gulped.

"No, but we got that foldin' picnic table so we can stop at a grocery store on the way to. .." Mike insisted.

Death Valley, California-

"Got enough cereal with your sugar, Davy?" Peter laughed- as they finished unfolding the picnic table and sitting down to breakfast

"Come on. We need the boost," Davy insisted.

"Yeah, at least we were able to see the sunrise on the way out here. Why are we having breakfast in the middle of Death Valley again?" Micky asked- as he poured the milk over his bowl of cereal.

"Because it's 200 feet below sea level and what better place to try out our baby's new paintjob? " Mike laughed.

"To say nothing of hearing that snap-crackle and pop over the desert winds," Peter laughed.

"You mean, we'd be under 200 feet of water if the mountains didn't seal off the ocean?" Davy gulped.

"You got it! And if this paint job can survive bein' under 200 feet of water, it has to be perfect so we can get ready to put our name on it!" Mike laughed.

Later that afternoon, after they drove it back to Malibu, Peter called everyone to the garage.

"Hold your horses, Shotgun. We're almost there!" Mike insisted as they ran in from the house.

"I didn't think I could finish it before our gig tonight but I did it!" Peter beamed.

"There's something off, Peter," Micky groaned.

"Yeah, don't you know that 'monkeys' has a 'y' before the 's' instead of a 2nd 'e'," Mike groaned.

"Really? I thought it had two 'e's," Davy gulped.

"But we need something to distinguish us from other primates! Besides, you know how hard it is to get paint dry without it running on angled letters? It was tough enough to get the 'k' right," Peter explained.

"I gotta admit, it does seem more appealing with the altered spelling," Mike pondered.

"And it's a far sight better than 'Micky and the Minnies'! " Davy scoffed.

"Oh, yeah like 'Delightful Davy and the Duds' would have caught on," Micky protested.

"Guys, our gig's about up and we need to see about findin' somewhere else to crash until we can get a new one," Mike sighed.

"A new place? But I like it here. I can't imagine not having Mr. Schneider's advice when trying to come up with a new song line," Peter sputtered.

"Yeah, to say nothing of being inspired by all the surfer chicks running around," Micky groaned.

"Well, we just were stayin' here for the gig but now that the gig's over an' we've put the final touches on the Monkeemobile, there's no point pressin' our luck here," Mike groaned.

"Cheer up, Peter. We've been thrown outta much worse places before. So it's a step up we're leaving this good place on our own," Davy sighed.

"But it reminded me of my home with Mama Buchanan- minus the beach, Mr. Schneider, the totem poles and the eagle," Peter sobbed.

"Cheer up! At least we got to be in a good spot for a time and nothing bad happened," Micky sighed.

"MICKY!" the others shouted.

"What?" Micky scoffed as they started to go back inside the main house.

"Why's the door open?" Davy gulped.

"And why is there a police car parked in the driveway," Peter shuddered as they walked through the front door

"THERE they are! Arrest them! No good squatters!" a middle aged man in a suit snarled from inside the pad with two police officers at his side.

"Who are you?" Mike asked.

"I'm Mr. Bartholomew Babbitt but you can call me 'Mr. Babbitt' and I'm the landlord for this flat! Officers, arrest these longhaired weirdos!" Mr. Babbitt ordered.

"Wait! There was no one livin' here when we got here!" Mike protested.

"Go with us, quietly or we'll have to use the cuffs," a 30-something Latino officer named Sgt. Juarez insisted.

"Yeah, and the place is 'condemned'! We weren't doin' no harm!" Davy sputtered.

"Tell that the judge! Officers, I'm pressing charges against these vagrants!" Mr. Babbitt snarled.

"Vagrants?" all four Monkees protested.

"We're hardworking performers!" Peter scoffed.

"The plumbing's not hooked up and there's no juice! Look at the Polaroids Davy took, we improved the insides!" Mike protested as he took some photos out of Davy's shirt pocket.

"That's doesn't matter in the eyes of the law," a 40-something African-American officer named Sgt. Timmons sighed.

"But, the place was deserted and condemned. What did you have in mind for it?" Mike asked.

"If you must know, I was hoping to have the city tear it down and sell off the lumber then pay for a new roof for my and Mrs. Purdy's basement flats," Mr. Babbitt explained.

"Basement flats? But you have this entire two story beachhouse above ya. Why live there?" Davy asked.

"Because I hate stairs. I hate beaches and I hate sun," Mr. Babbitt snarled.

"What **do** you like?" Micky asked.

"Evicting tenants and sending vagrants to jail! Heh! Heh!" Mr. Babbitt gloated.

Suddenly, all eyes focused on a 8th man entering the front door who was in his 60's, almost as tall as Mike, bald wearing a white suit and white gloves, black knee boots and carrying a large suitcase.

"Excuse me, Bartholomew vat iss der meaning of diss!" the 8th man hissed.

"Mr. Strudelgruber!" Mr. Babbitt gulped.

"Sir, we're about to assist a squatter eviction so you'll need to. .." Officer Juarez sputtered.

"You can't evict zem," Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed.

"But the owner. .." Sgt. Timmons protested.

"Bartholomew Babbitt's not the owner of this property," Mr. Strudelgruber protested.

"He's not?" the Monkees and police officers shouted at the same time.

"No, he's only the landlord and caretaker for the owner," Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed.

"So you're the owner?" Mike asked.

"Of course not . I'm only the Executor of the Estate of Hatshepsut Swansong," Mr. Strudelgruber explained.

"Hatshepsut Swansong?" the Monkees asked.

"Come on. How could a court of law find that will valid?" Mr. Babbit sputtered.

"It happens to have her signature!" Mr. Strudelgruber sniffed as he pulled out the will for all to see.

"But that's a **paw print**!" Davy gasped.

"Yeah, Hatshepsut Swansong was the opera singer/ character actress Madame Ophelia Swansong's CAT!" Mr. Babbitt groaned.

"Cat?" Peter gulped.

"Yes, the late great Ophelia Swansong amassed a fortune in opera as well is a movie performer before her demise in 1945 but none of her family or eight husbands did her right so she left her entire estate including this beach retreat to the one individual who did," Mr. Strudelgruber explained.

"Her cat, right," Micky gulped.

"You catch on, fast. Swift," Mr. Babbit snarled.

"But alas poor Hatshepsut's nine lives were no more by 1953. However; she left her entire estate to. .."Mr. Strudelgruber explained as he walked behind Mr. Schneider's back and pulled the string.

"Mine! ALL MINE!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Schneider.

"Wait a minute? You're telling me that this beach house was originally built by an opera singer who left it to her cat who left it to a mannequin? Why?" Davy asked in puzzlement.

Mr. Strudelgruber pulled Mr. Schneider's string again.

"Pussy loves warm milk. Pussy loves to be stroked and petted!" Mr. Schneider's voice recited.

"Can't argue that!" Micky laughed said with a leer with Davy laughing with him while Mike rolled his eyes and Peter blushed.

"In any case, the terms of the vill made it clear that this house was supposed to be kept in good condition- as how to the heir had become accustomed." Mr. Strudelgruber proclaimed.

"But. .. but a mannequin has no need for electricity or plumbing," Mr. Babbit protested.

"Ach! Those conditions were vat Herr Schneider had become accustomed to during the lifetime of Fraulein Hatshepsut Swansong. Am I wrong, Bartholomew? "Mr. Strudlegruber fumed.

"No, Mr. Strudelgruber,"Mr. Babbit sighed.

"These occupants have made Madame Swansong's abode glow once again. So, if you want to keep your position, you vill need to haf die charges DROPPED, reconnect the plumbing and electricity then draw up a lease for them to compensate the estate on a monthly basis," Mr. Strudelgruber ordered.

"But, but. ." Mr. Babbit sputtered.

"Look, the will's valid and the dummy owns the place, these dudes are gonna pay, so there's really no reason for us to hang around," Sgt. Juarez scoffed while he and Sgt. Timmons started walking away.

"But, Officers. .." Mr. Babbitt pleaded.

"Sorry, but we've got parking tickets to issue and jaywalking citations to give out in town," Sgt. Timmons scoffed as they walked out the door.

"Mr. Strudelgruber, I don't know how we can thank . ."Mike gulped as he started to shake the lawyer's hand.

"Don't thank me. Thank, Herr. Schneider. He's the one who smiles when you are around!" Mr. Strudelgruber scoffed- as he walked out the door.

"He IS smiling!" Peter proclaimed.

"Okay, you longhaired weirdos! Here's the lease contract. Sign away your lives, don't make a racquet, no pets and pay every month or I'll make you wish you were REAL dummies like Mr. Schneider," Mr. Babbitt fumed later as the four signed the lease then stormed off.

As soon as Mr. Babbitt walked off .

"YAY! We DID IT!" the four cheered while dancing a jig.

"Guys, you heard him. We may have a nice pad to hop to but we've still got to make sure to pay every month and our gig at the Jack-a-Go-Go's done for," Mike cautioned.

"Yeah, we know but at least for a little while we have a home and that could make all the difference! Maybe I'll find me dad and it would be good to bring him here to show this off!" Davy enthused.

"Meantime, let's catch some waves!" Peter urged while taking off his mocassins.

"And maybe get to know some surfer chicks!" Micky added while taking off his shirt while the four soon ran climbed down the hillside before running into the surf to celebrate.


	8. Christmas Surf!

'Christmas Surf' (Chapter Eight)

Malibu, California- December, 1965

Davy Jones had an odd dream. He kept hearing the muffled voices of his fellow Monkees screaming,

"WAKE UP, Davy! We need to ask you something!"

Along with the shouting, there was the odd sensation of two right hands grabbing his left shoulder and tugging. Then, there was frantic running and doors slamming.

But Davy was still nursing a bad cold which he was sure he had been hiding from the others and had taken a strong overnight cold medicine to attempt to sleep it off so he simply dreamt something else when that dream ended.

Finally, he awoke and glanced at the wall calendar [with the picture of a gingerbread house] on the far wall of the bedroom he shared with Peter.

" Christmas at last- and a Saturday! "Davy said to himself as he opened his eyes and set his feet on the floor.

He noticed that Peter wasn't in his bed and then he realized how quiet the rest of the house was.

"Peter, Mike, Micky? Where've ya gone?" Davy shouted as he soon ran around the living room, kitchen, atrium then up the spiral staircase to Mike and Micky's room and looked inside the empty room.

"Come on, guys! I feel tons better!" Davy shouted to an empty house- though a moment later felt his throat ache again.

Davy realized that this was the very first time in the States since he'd caught up with Peter in Chicago [right before they'd meet Micky], that he'd been alone- and none of the cute surfer girls or beatnik babes that frequented their shows were around.

Still in his pajamas, he ran out to the garage and noticed the Monkeemobile missing and also two of the training-wheeled unicycles.

"Why'd they leave the dunebuggy? Oh, it's got a flat!" Davy sighed as he kicked the right front tire of said dunebuggy- that a nightclub owner had given them for payment in lieu of cash a month earlier which Micky especially lobbied to accept.

He ran back to his and Peter's bedroom and noticed the windup alarm clock on the nightstand.

"11:30. They've left me all alone on Christmas morning. Some friends. Wait, it's 7:30 at night in Manchester and there's no one around. Perfect time to wish Mum a Merry Christmas!" Davy excitedly shouted as he ran to his chest of drawers and pulled out the 2nd one to reveal the false bottom.

He felt for the pouch but couldn't find it anywhere .Then he pulled out every drawer in the chest, flinging them on the floor and saw there was no trace.

"It's GONE! Who couldda taken it?!" Davy asked to himself in a panic.

Then, he frantically put on his pants over his pajama bottoms and felt . .

"Me wallet! It's EMPTY!"Davy raged as he practically tore a hole his pocket as he threw the wallet on top of his bed.

"They've cleaned me out and left me all alone- and on Christmas Day to boot! "Davy sighed to himself as he sadly put the empty wallet back in his pocket.

He walked over to the podium 'business desk' next to a totem pole beneath the Pacific cities' Flight Schedule sign in the main living room which Mike used to pay bills.

"Hmm, what's this '$200 Misc.' note here on the ledger? We're short this month's rent and they've spent $200 on. . what?!" Davy gasped.

He then walked over to the bay window/ alcove and watched the surf crash on the beach below as he tried to contemplate his next move.

He picked up the small snapshot of his mother Sal Jones that he'd kept in his wallet and sighed.

"I'm real sorry, Mum, but I've let you down somethin' fierce today. I thought I could trust 'em but they took _everythin'_ an' now I've got nothin' to give ya!" Davy sniffed as he then gave vent and actually burst into full sobs.

A few hours later, Davy had dressed in his usual attire of blue slacks, collared blue shirt and pointed boots and was sitting on the main sofa when he heard the Monkeemobile being backed into the garage .

"Well, Mr. Schneider. I think I'm gonna give a Christmas surprise of me own! I knew you'd smile at that!" Davy sighed as he climbed the spiral staircase from the outside of the railing.

"Davy! We're back! "Peter shouted as the three of them entered the pad.

"Tiny? Where are ya?" Mike asked.

"You think he might have noticed the missing money?" Micky asked.

"Does THIS answer yer question? Thieves! Pickpockets!" Davy boiled as he leaped from the top of the spiral staircase and onto Mike's, Peter's and Micky's backs ,collapsing the four of them onto the ground and started swinging at all three of them.

"Take it easy!" Mike pleaded as he attempted to evade Davy's slugs while pulling him off Micky and Peter.

"I hope you're happy! You ruined me AN' me Mum's Christmas!" Davy screamed as he randomly punched and kicked each of the others.

"I guess you didn't read our note," Peter sighed.

"I'd worked real hard for that money for months and for you to just steal it from me- on Christmas Day?! I thought you guys were me friends!" Davy boiled –still too angry to consider any explanations.

"We ARE!" Micky pleaded.

"Then how could ya have . .? Why?!" Davy screamed.

"We didn't want to take it but we needed it straight away," Mike sighed.

"But why didn't you at least ask me?" Davy asked.

"We tried but that cold medicine made you dead to the world!" Peter groaned.

"Don't you remember us screaming and shaking you?" Micky asked.

With Mike and Micky were struggling to pull Davy's arms behind him, Davy took a deep breath and recalled the odd 'dream' he'd had of them doing that.

"But why did you need the cash so bad on Christmas Day?" Davy asked- finally subdued.

"Didn't you read the note?" Peter asked.

"What note?" Davy asked.

"The note we left at the breakfast room table next to your cereal bowl," Micky tried to explain.

"I was too mad to eat and I'm still mad so tell me . .!" Davy insisted- as he glanced at the breakfast table and saw the note at his place.

"I got a parking ticket," Peter groaned.

"A parking ticket?! Who'd give out a parking ticket on Christmas Day?" Davy scoffed.

"Cops," Peter sighed.

"The police?! What do they care if ya parked on an expired meter?" Davy chortled.

"It wasn't an expired meter. It was in front of a fire hydrant," Peter groaned.

"Fire hydrant?" Davy scoffed.

"In front of the police station," Micky sighed while giving Peter a withering look.

"Why would ya have parked. ..?" Davy sputtered.

"That's what _I_ wanted to know," Micky sighed.

"I thought if I got there first thing this morning and gave them free tickets to our New Year's Eve show, they wouldn't bust us for disturbing the peace," Peter explained.

"So you parked in front of their fire hydrant? " Davy scoffed.

"It was the only open space in front of the building!" Peter protested.

At that all three fellow Monkees did facepalms.

"Before I even had the chance to make my pitch, they towed the Monkeemobile and said they had to have $300 by noon or else they'd have it impounded and compacted," Peter sighed.

"If it makes you feel any better, Tiny, it cleaned ALL our funds out even the rent money for January," Mike groaned.

"You mean the rent for November that we were hoping to pay in January," Micky sighed.

"Yeah," Mike sighed.

"Davy! We hated to do it but even with all our other monies, we were still short, we couldn't wake you and there was no time," Micky sighed.

"No time?" Davy protested.

"With the dunebuggy's flat tire an' the patchin' kit empty, we only had the unicycles at our disposal to get us there by noon," Mike tried to explain.

"But why did all three of you. ..?" Davy started to say.

" I was at the impound lot . They sure weren't happy to have to open on Christmas Day and I phoned Mike since he's got the Monkeemobile's title," Peter started to explain.

"Okay but why couldn't you have stayed behind to explain, Micky?" Davy asked.

"Because Peter reminded me I'd left my driver's license in the glove compartment from my last turn and I had to get it before they compacted it with the Monkeemobile. There was no time," Micky tried to explain.

"Really?" Davy asked.

"Y' ever wonder how fast you can ride a unicycle with training wheels three miles over twisting, steep an' hilly roads? Try it," Mike scoffed.

"We'll pay you back you every penny and shilling even before Mr. Babbitt," Peter pleaded.

"That's no good! I'd been stashing that money so I'd have enough to call Mum to surprise her Christmas Day with a phone call and now it's too late. It ain't like I got a rich uncle or granddad who can spot me funds anytime. Me and Mum are on our own and now she thinks I don't care," Davy sobbed.

A/N- I know there was a Monkee's episode in which Davy DID have a rich grandfather but I always thought it more appealing that the boys didn't have the option of anyone bailing them out but had to scramble on their own and Davy always came across to me as from the working rather than wealthy class so for this AU fanfic, the rich grandfather doesn't exist. Also, the 'background' of the Monkees in general in this AU is somewhat different from the few asides on the show- as well as the performers' actual ones.

"Davy, we understand," Peter sighed- as he patted Davy's shoulder.

"Do you? How could any of you understand? You don't know what it's like to grow up with next to nothin' but not noticin' cos the only person in the whole world who cared about ya made ya feel like a prince in spite of her bein' a pauper!" Davy sniffed.

"Davy. ." Mike started to say.

"See that beach out there? There ain't a spot in England more than 50 miles from a coast, yet Mum's never seen the more the slivers of estuaries much less had a beach holiday in Brighton," Davy sighed- as he pointed outside the window.

"Why not?" Peter asked.

"Because she was a strugglin' orphan in workhouses then mills who had no one carin' fer her before she had me an' now she thinks I don't either," Davy groaned.

"I can relate, Davy," Peter sighed.

"How can ya. .?" Davy started to ask.

"I was a foster kid, remember? My folks were in such a bad way that the state took me out of there before I could even remember. Then from the time I was three to eight, Mama and Papa Buchanan took me in," Peter explained.

"The minister and his wife, right?" Micky asked.

"That's right. Everyone else thought I was a dim bulb foster kid but Mama Buchanan saw how much I loved songs and music . She did, too, and did everything to encourage me to learn every instrument put in front of me like a fish taking to water. I loved her and she loved me but. . I couldn't stay with them," Peter cried.

"What do you mean, you couldn't?" Mike asked.

"They weren't able to adopt me on account that my folks never signed off their 'rights' . So the state took me away from the Buchanans then put me in. . . other places and . ..all I know is that if I hadn't had Mama Buchanan's love and nurturing for those five years, I couldn't have survived the rest of my childhood," Peter gulped.

"I feel the same way about my Aunt Kate," Mike sighed.

"Did she raise you?" Davy asked.

"I wish but the times I got to spend with her somewhat made up for everyone else's rejection," Mike groaned.

"Why would they reject. .?" Micky asked.

"My daddy, Jeremiah Nesmith was a preacher with five kids when he met my mama Lula who had six kids of her own when she started singing in the church choir," Mike sighed.

"That sounds rather touching. .." Davy gulped.

"Oh, I forgot to tell ya all that the two of them were _married_ to other folks in their tiny Texas town at the time but they thought they could outsmart 'em," Mike groaned.

"Outsmart?" Peter asked.

"Yep, Mama Lula was past forty and they thought her childbearin' days were past her but they weren't. Oh, and when her husband Doc Pritchard found out she was in the family way, he threatened to denounce the both of 'em by refusin' to pretend he was my daddy," Mike explained.

"Why would he? How could they have. .?" Davy asked a bit confused.

"On account that the law says that a woman's husband's the legal daddy of her baby unless proven otherwise and Doc Pritchard had the last laugh by telling her that it wasn't just the _appendix_ he'd had fixed after their 6th baby Eudora," Mike fumed.

"Yikes!" Micky, Davy and Peter gasped.

"Yep, and Daddy's wife Mrs. Dinah Nesmith didn't keep as sweet as my folks had counted on either. It was her last straw. So my folks each soon found themselves divorced by their mates an' got married when Mama was six months along with me. It wasn't enough to prevent Daddy getting' run out by his church and they had to find a new town. Do I have to draw any of ya a map as how all this went down in the early '40's ?" Mike sighed.

"But they must have loved you enough to want to keep. ."Peter pleaded.

"Ya think? Too many folks knew I was comin' for them to pass me onto somewhere else ,they thought gettin' rid of me altogether would be a worse sin than havin' fooled around-and their own marriage was done even before I came along," Mike fumed.

"Did they tell you that in so many words ?" Davy asked.

"Them exact words!" Mike boiled.

"What about your brothers and sisters?" Peter asked.

"Them two sets fought like cats an'dogs with each other an' themselves but they all agreed how I'd ruined their lives and how much they missed their country club that they all got booted from on account of our folks' divorces and my arrival," Mike scoffed.

"What about Aunt Kate?" Micky asked.

"Daddy's spinster baby sister. She alone cared about me but they wouldn't let her have me more than visits while they kept passin' me back and forth to themselves and other kin along like a bad memory. She shouldda been the preacher on account that she lived by the Word instead of just tellin' others to," Mike reflected.

"Really?" Davy asked.

"Grandpa Nesmith was so impressed by her and so put off by Daddy and the uncles he left the ranch to her on condition that it never get passed back to the Nesmith male line- another reason Daddy and Mama wouldn't let me stay with her more than a fortnight!" Mike scoffed.

"What about you, Mick?" Peter asked.

"Look, I told you, I came from a bad home. They hated each other and weren't happy I came along to keep them together and never were shy about showing it. Can we just drop it?" Micky asked.

"Come on, the rest of us have shared what happened. We won't think less of you," Peter pleaded.

" Well, what they did to me was a. .. lot worse than sending me to my room for not eating spinach and I knew if I didn't run away. … I'd **die** there," Micky shuddered in uncharacteristically deadly earnest seriousness.

"So you ran away to the circus?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, the clowns saw how I joked my way outta things and knew it was a survival mechanism and they also encouraged my singing while teaching me to be a clown when I tended the elephants. Some folks are scared by 'em but I knew they were just making folks laugh by showing them a side of themselves they didn't want to think about," Micky reflected.

"What happened?" Davy asked- curious despite still being angry.

"The circus got bought out and we all got scattered to the wind but I knew I could never go back to the folks calling themselves my parents," Micky gulped.

"Was it really. ..?" Peter asked.

"Yes, Peter, do you have to ask? It _really_ was. Let me tell ya when I was sixteen and it was time to get my driver's license, I had to sneak back to my old grade school to get the records to seek out my birth certificate," Micky recalled.

"Sneak back?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, because if they knew I was back in town, they'd have killed me for sure. Anyway, it was only when I got the birth certificate that I found out I was born right down the highway in Los Angeles . They abused me but never told me that or anything else about who we were or where we came from. Not until Chicago that I found out that Dolenz was a Slovene name. Anyone else wonder where that could be?" Micky sighed.

"Papa Buchanan called me his Little Viking and I could never understand why. It was only years later I found out that my original family name had been Thorkelsen . It meant the 'son of the [Norse god of thunder] Thor's helmet'," Peter explained.

"Cool! So that explains all your brain storms!" Micky laughed.

"Ha! Ha! Well, my grandparents came from Norway but all that got trimmed to Tork," Peter sighed.

" Well, I only know **half** me heritage and Mum barely remembers anythin' about her own folks –just that they came from Wales an' put her in that workhouse in Ipswich when she was a wee one,"Davy sighed.

"Davy that's not tru-. .." Peter started to say.

"Peter!" Mike and Micky shouted.

" Poor Miz Jones. Friendless and alone and then getting saddled with a baby," Peter bawled.

"That ain't true. She never looked at it like that. As far back as I can remember, the one thing I knew is that she loved and wanted me. She even was willin' to die in childbed havin' me on account of her bein' so tiny if only one of us could survive but she lived," Davy gulpeded.

"Did she tell you that ?" Mike gulped.

"No, all she ever said was how happy she was to have me when I were born. It was only when I tried to find out about me Dad that I found the hospital records that said she barely survived an' they told her she could never have another yet she never burdened me with any of that an' or me bein' born on the wrong side of the blanket," Davy sniffed.

"Davy, we really wish we didn't have to have even asked you for the monies much less borrowed . .." Micky sighed.

"'Borrowed?!' And what about that $200 'Miscellaneous' in the ledger? I thought you each put in monies for the next rent payment but it's not there! Don't tell me you three spent it on drug store stuff. _I_ don't spend that much," Davy sniffed.

"Hey! You think you see more action than the rest of us combined? Well, girls like zany & cute and I've got _that_ out the wazoo!" Micky protested.

"Micky," Mike groaned.

"What? I mean how arrogant can he be to think that we three combined couldn't see as much action as him," Micky snorted.

"Micky," Peter groaned.

"Yeah, like short and British alone corners the market! HA! Come on, you two. Where's your pride? Mike's strong + silent and Peter's goofy + artistic are draws, too- not close to zany and cute but still. ." Micky scoffed.

"MICKY!" Peter and Mike shouted together.

"I can see why you'd think so bad of us, Tiny an' I hate it. You oughta know we'd never steal or swindle from ya or you from us," Mike protested.

"Then why did you take $200 that was supposed to go for November's rent? That along with the $300 you scrounged up for Peter's stupid ticket makes _$500_ we could have used! I couldda brought Mum _here_ for a visit for that kinda money and shown her the sea at last but now I can't even make a phone call on Christmas Day," Davy sighed.

"I think I understand where Miz Jones is comin' from. When you caught up to me in Chicago and we came together to wrestle Micky, I liked how we worked together like. .. " Peter started to say.

"You wanna hear something odd. When I saw how you two worked to try to beat me, I wanted what you had- and I couldn't think of any other reason you'd want anything more to do with me besides being in a band," Micky confessed.

"And I know you saw the perfect spot for a bass guitar but could it have been something else, Mike?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, face it. We each wanted a family and I just wish we couldda given ya one, Tiny," Mike sighed.

"Mike!" Micky cringed.

"Aw, face it, Mick! It's worse him believin' we can't be trusted than to keep the news from. ." Mike groaned.

"News?" Davy asked.

"Well, we wrote your mother and asked where she might have met your father and she wrote me that he was in the Knightsbridge Convalescent Military Hospital in London where she worked as a scullery maid in July of 1944," Peter sighed.

"You wrote Mum?! Why didn't you tell . .?" Davy asked.

"We were hoping to surprise you for Christmas," Micky sighed.

"Surprise?" Davy gulped.

"Yeah, we hired a detective to see if he could find a Sgt. Jones from the States who'd been there," Peter groaned.

"So that's where the $200 went. He took your money and gave ya a song n' dance, right?" Davy sighed.

"No, that's not it," Mike sighed.

"Wait! You mean. .. they FOUND me Dad?! Really!? Oh, that's great!" Davy shouted jumping up and down.

The other three stood silently.

"Why aren't you joining me?! Aren't ya happy fer me?" Davy asked as he noticed the other three being glum.

"Well, there's nothing to keep you here now," Peter groaned.

"But I'll bring him back here and show 'im . ."Davy sputtered.

"We wish you could but. .." Mike sighed.

"He doesn't want anything to do with me? Well, I had to drop outta school when I was fourteen to help Mum and do all kinds of odd jobs including exercisin' them race track horses! He thinks I'm nothing? I'll show. .!" Davy boiled.

"No, you can't, Tiny," Mike sighed.

"What do you mean?" Davy asked- not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"Here's the packet the detective sent. I swear we only read the ' vital' top sheet and nothin' more, "Mike sighed.

Davy opened the packet from the Gerfner Detective Agency dated 'December 20,1965'

'_Dear Messrs. Dolenz, Tork and Nesmith,_

_We were able to find out that the only U.S. soldier named Sgt. Jones at the Knightsbridge Convalescent Hospital in July,1944 was a Sgt. Everett Jones aged 25 from Baltimore, Maryland_," Davy read aloud.

"Baltimore?! Mum's gonna have a fit!" Davy laughed.

"Why? It's where Francis Scott Key composed our National Anthem at," Peter recalled.

"Hmm, it's the northernmost Southern city on the Atlantic seaboard or the southernmost Northern city- dependin' on who ya ask," Mike pondered.

"Yeah and that's where Mrs. Wallis Simpson hailed from. Mum tol' me she'd had a schoolgirl crush on King Edward but knew he'd ne'er know 'er from Eve but hoped he'd find a pretty princess so when he Abdicated an' hooked up with a homely divorcée. ." Davy explained.

"Well, now she can think of it being where her child's father came from," Micky offered.

"I s'pose so. Well, let's see what else it says. ."Davy continued.

'_Sgt. Everett Jones, known to prefer the childhood nickname of 'Jonesy', had been wounded on Omaha Beach during the D-DAY Invasion of Nornamdy and was evacuated to that London-area hospital in late June,1944 and would recuperate_ _until September, 1944 when he was deemed fit to return to service and would rejoin his unit in France_,'" Davy read aloud.

"I kinda understand why he'd prefer 'Jonesy' to Everett," Micky gulped.

"Here's his picture! No wonder I didn't get Mum's green eyes or red hair! Not with his dominant brown eyes and hair genes!" Davy laughed- as he took out the enclosed headshot of his father in a dress U.S. Army uniform.

"He looked just like you, Davy except he seemed huge!" Peter gasped as they passed around the picture that had his vital measurements imprinted on the back.

At that Micky and Mike elbowed Peter.

"Yeah it says here he's 6' 5"! Six foot five and here I am five foot three! Oh, Mum's genes had to come out somewhere, I guess!" Davy laughed.

"So she's five-three, too?" Peter asked-relieved Davy somehow didn't notice his slip up.

"Nah, she's four foot nine an' about the only grown-up I DO tower over! "Davy laughed.

"She must have looked like an elf beside your dad!" Peter gulped.

"What else does it say?" Micky asked not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"OK, it says. .."Davy continued.

'_Sgt. Everett 'Jonesy' Jones was amongst those US Soldiers at the Elbe River during the invasion of Germany when the NAZI's surrendered May 7,1945_.'

"So he helped make VE Day happen while your mother was giving birth to you back in Manchester and considered you her own VE Day gift," Peter said in awe.

"Yeah, I guess he did. Great he had a heroic war record an' all but what's he doin' now, I wonder? Hmm. ."Davy pondered.

'_After the War, he returned to his home in Baltimore - his family having lived in on the Eastern Shore of Maryland since the late 1680's_.'

"So Dad not only was from the Colonies but was descended from REAL Colonists! That's incredible!" Davy exclaimed.

"Yeah, and good thing because that means he and your Mum couldn't have been close relatives despite having the same last name,"Micky laughed- which prompted Davy to swat him with the cover letter.

"Ha! Ha! Anyway it goes onto say. .."Davy started to say as he continued to read.

'_One of his uncles, a Mr. Powell Jones owned a Chesapeake Bay fishing boat where Everett AKA 'Jonesy' would work during the summers through soft-shelled crab season during while trying to break in the Baltimore big band scene as a trumpet player._'

"A trumpet player? So THAT's where I got me love for music! Mum is great an' all but she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket to save 'er life. She used to havta _recite_ lullabies instead of singin' them to get me to sleep," Davy laughed.

"So, just curious. Did you ever think of becoming a singer in England?" Micky asked.

"Nah. Where I came from, if you were born into a workin' family, a workin' man is what you'd be an' nothin' more. Mum wanted the best fer me an' all but I knew I couldn't be more than doin' odd jobs to help her an' maybe one day start me own family but just keep workin'," Davy sighed.

"So he was a trumpet player and worked on a fishing boat," Peter pondered.

"Yeah, an one of my fave lullabies Mum used to recite was about three fishermen in a wooden shoe an' I used to think if Dad were . ..around he'd take me fishin' and we'd catch minnows and stars," Davy laughed.

"'Winken, Blynken and Nod'! I love that song by the Simon Sisters!" Micky exclaimed.

"You mean that song by the Big 3 with Cass Elliot!" Peter protested.

"Carly and Lucy Simon are tall, willowy BABES! You really like that singer with Kate Smith's figure?" Micky laughed.

"Micky! Do you have to be so shallow? Cass Elliot's got a voice touched by God!" Peter proclaimed.

"Guys! I think this debate can wait for another time," Mike sighed.

"Yeah, don't forget Mr. Everett Jones fished for soft-shelled crabs!" Micky exclaimed.

"So?" Mike asked.

"The circus once stopped in the Baltimore area and we had those fried. Once a year, during mating season, the crabs molt their outer shells and become so tender that you can eat the whole crab- shell and all," Micky recalled with a smack of his lips.

"Animal eater!" Peter snorted.

"The things you vegetarians miss out on," Micky laughed.

"Guys!" Davy pleaded while raising his right fist above them.

"Sorry," Micky and Peter exclaimed.

"Anyway, it says here that . .."Davy continued.

'_While Everett Jones was on the verge to make the big band scene in Baltimore, his dreams were cut short when_ . .'" Davy shuddered-and put down the cover letter.

'_When he fell into a 100 gallon crab pot on his uncle's fishing boat in Baltimore Harbor and _drowned_ on June 9,1950-at age 30_," Mike gulped as he took the cover letter out of Davy's hands.

"So, now it's over. I'll never see 'im. I'll never know what it's like to have a dad," Davy sniffed while he teared up.

"I know. I'm real sorry, Tiny," Mike exclaimed while he, Micky and Peter all put their right hands on Davy's right shoulder.

After a few minutes of saddened silence. . .

"Wait! I noticed this yesterday's mail and wanted to give it to you but in all the excitement, I forgot," Peter gulped –as he took out a large envelope with British stamps and postmarks.

"It's from MUM! " Davy happily exclaimed- and took out a large Christmas card with a painting of a snow-covered, Victorian London streetscape from an illustration of Dicken's 'A Christmas Carol'.

"What does it say?" Micky asked.

"Come on, Mick! It's private between them!" Mike protested.

"No, I think it's something you may like to hear," Davy gulped

_Me Dear Wee One,_

_I just want ya to know how much I loved that crate of 2 dozen oranges you an' the lads picked from that orange grove an' shipped to me!_

"We've played for all kinds of stuff besides money but before California, I never imagined we'd play for oranges " Peter recalled.

"Yeah, as much as I'd have preferred cash. Those fresh-picked oranges were a treat and never knew it could be so fun picking them!" Micky laughed while licking his lips.

"_Bev, Rita, Marcy an' the whole gang loved 'em and I was so happy to think of you being somewhere where you could see them _grow_ with blossoms to spare! "_

"Mum, did you have to give them away? I know they've been your friends in the neighborhood but I meant them for you alone," Davy sighed to himself- as he looked at the letter.

"_Don't worry about me, lad! I saved one or two and am going to use all the skins to make a batch of marmalade which I hope you'll fancy!" _

"Mum! I don't want you to," Davy groaned.

"_I know you don't want me to but I_ _want__ to do this! Besides, them 24 golden, sweet-smelling oranges got me to thinkin' about how happy you'd be on Christmas mornins' with an orange in your Christmas stocking toe!"_

"It's true. I used to think them oranges like they were gold. Between the wartime rationin' still goin' on until I was about ten and Mum's small wages, oranges were somethin' I could only count on Christmas Day every year," Davy recalled.

"So Christmas was extra special for you and your Mum," Peter gulped.

"Yeah, it was the one day when all her efforts to scrimp and save over the past year would be a windfall for us and she could use more than words to treat me as her prince! Not just the extra shillings for the heating machine, "Davy half-laughed.

"You mean, the landlord would make you pay by the coin for heat like a parking meter? Sounds worse than Mr. Babbitt!" Micky shuddered.

"What else does she say?" Mike asked.

" I thought you said the card was private between them," Micky snorted.

"It's okay. It's worth hearin' aloud!" Davy beamed.

_I know you'd love to give me all kinds of fancy presents today but them furs and diamonds were never me style. Besides, you've long since given me the best present I could have ever had- being able to raise you from a tiny baby to a grown man! Even when you pulled things that made me want to wring your neck and we were at terrible loggerheads, I never thought it less than a privilege to have you in my life-and there's nothing that can shake me faith in you or you carin' for me! Now that you're making a new life away from me and as much as I miss havin' you around , I take pride knowing that you're makin' folks happy with your music and going to higher sights than either of us thought possible- and that you've with some good cronies who care for ya more than just wantin' you to sing in their group an' get more girls interested in them. I know this beyond just beyond them helpin' ya pick them oranges for me! Whether or not you're successful in finding your dad- know that he'll always have a home in me heart beyond just the dream time we got to have together. I know I ain't the other lads' mum but -for what they're trying to do for us, I would happily consider them part of us. _

_Love, _

_Mum_

_P.S. I understand you're in a land of never ending summer so if you get to missing snow on Christmas Day, I hope this card will do the trick!'_

"Whoa! I don't know what else to say to that!" Micky gulped- as Davy passed the Christmas card for all to see..

"Mick's silent on Christmas Day? Ain't that some kindda twist on the legend of talkin' Manger critters when Baby Jesus was born?" Mike laughed.

"Is there anything else in that packet from the detective? I couldn't bear to look after I saw the cover letter," Peter sobbed.

"Here's a letter from his brother Alfred – me uncle which says he got this a month before he drowned an' lookin at the mark on the postcard, two weeks before the one he sent to Mum," Davy proclaimed as he took the postcard his mother had saved that had started him on the journey to the States out of the desk drawer.

_Baltimore May 8,1950_

'_Hey Freddie,_

_That radio show really had swing and maybe I'll get my own regular show! I've had a crazy life since the War was over and I've got to thinking that the one thing I can count on is family so I hope you don't mind if I expand ours by going to England and seeing if that little lady named Sal , who did far more than the Army nurses to help me get my land legs back in London in '44, is interested. If you _do_ mind,too damn bad- I'm bringing her back .I just found out she didn't just disappear into thin air after our fun when I got reposted but she was carrying my little one! Yep, I'm a papa and his name is Davy. Just as soon as the soft-shell season's over and Uncle Powell pays me, I'm hopping the next boat to England and find them in their new city to bring them back here. Yeah, she's an itty biddy redhead but she's got a heart bigger than the Bay and now that I can finally take care of myself, I want to take care of her and the little one whose birthday it is today. Yeah, laugh if you want but your baby brother's actually in l-o-v-e. And I can get to dump the little one on you and Marge like you do with Milo and Socrates on me when she wants you to take her dancing! Well, give Marge and the whippersnappers my best,_

_Jonesy'_

"Davy, you think you'll seek out your uncle and cousins? He did forward this letter," Peter asked.

"Yeah, I think I will but not right now," Davy sighed- as he looked out towards the Malibu surf.

"But he's your family," Mike pleaded.

"At this point, he's a stranger. Maybe in time I'll think of 'im as fam'ly. Right now, . . .I'm **with** me family- and I'm sorry I ever thought so bad of you three," Davy proclaimed as he climbed onto the chair and hugged the shoulders of Mike, Peter and Micky.

"Davy, we promise you. We WILL pay back the all monies you were saving AND as soon as we can afford it, we'll PAY for your entire phone call to your mother," Micky proclaimed with Mike and Peter nodding.

"Not only that. One day, we'll have her come visit here along with Aunt Kate!" Mike proclaimed.

Davy was sniffing in spite of himself.

"Is there anything we can do for you now?" Peter sobbed.

"Well, I think I've got all I need for the time bein'," Davy gulped.

"I know something I could do for you!" Mike proclaimed.

"What?" Davy asked.

And right then and there, Mike took out his acoustic guitar and played/sang for Davy the song 'Winken, Blynken and Nod' and soon Micky imagined himself as the little Dutch fisherman Winken, while Peter imagined himself as the little Dutch fisherman Blynken, while Davy imagined himself as their compatriot Nod all nestled in a Dutch wooden shoe for their boat with Mike imagining himself as the Old Moon keeping watch over them as they cast their nets for minnows and stars.

"If you can stand it, since it's Christmas Day. I think we need to sing a Christmas song," Peter proclaimed- as the song ended and they were on the verge of coming back to reality.

" 'Silent Night'? " Micky asked.

"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'?" Davy asked.

' Jingle Bell Rock'?" Mike asked.

"No, I was thinking something that Mama Buchanan taught me- 'Riu Riu Chiu'! " so with Peter singing the entire song on his own at first, the others soon learned it and before too long, they sang it a capella with each of them having a different harmonic element.

"Whoa- a medieval Spanish chant! Not bad for a Presbyterian missionary's wife!" Mike laughed- after a few minutes of silence after their rendition.

"We may have come from broken and flawed families but we've made our own family and that's the best gift anyone could want!" Micky proclaimed.

"And I have the feeling that the New Year will open up things none of us would have ever imagined even before we met!" Peter insisted.

"Looks like any wives or kids of ours are gonna have to deal with three crazy uncles," Davy laughed as they switched on the lights of the Christmas tree behind them as they watched the sunset over the Malibu surf through the atrium window while passing Davy's mum's Sal's Christmas card depicting a Victorian London snow-covered streetscape.


	9. Maltese Phoenix

"Maltese Phoenix"- Chapter Nine

A/N- Please keep in mind that this an AU NOT Real Life re the characters, events nor family members depicted here. Thanks. I hope you all like it. Please Review.

_March 6, 2012._

_Valletta, MALTA[A.P.] –Although no remains have been recovered, Maltese, UK and US officials have confirmed the drowning death of legendary rocker, Davy Jones aged 66 last seen swimming near his home a week ago. Family spokesperson has said funeral arrangements are to be private at St. John's Co-Cathedral with his fellow bandmates possibly visiting at a later time._

Malta International Airport VIP Lounge- near Valletta, Malta- the next morning.

"Another cup, Mr. Nesmith?" asked the vested 35-year-old bartender Bon Teumma.

"Sorry, I'm still in Central US Time," 69-year-old Mike replied with a yawn while sipping his 2nd cup of Turkish coffee.

"How much longer before Micky's plane gets here from LA?" 70-year-old Peter Tork asked as he sipped the mint tea at the counter.

"He texted at Charles De Gaulle [Paris] that it shouldda bin here an hour ago ," Mike replied as he looked at the i-Pad.

"You think he could have gotten lost in that airport?" Peter replied.

"Well now, he's got i-Pad so how lost could he. .?" Mike asked.

"The Rome Airport wasn't so easy to get around," Peter recalled.

"Yeah, it's quite a maze an' lucky fer us, our flights from Dallas and JFK weren't too apart so we were able to meet in Rome to fly here together," Mike replied.

"Mike, Charles de Gaulle's a tricky spot and even with New Millennium doo-dads at his fingertips, it's still _Micky_," Peter shrugged.

"Heard that! Is dissing me any way to talk about the man who's arranged our transport today?" 66-year-old Micky Dolenz scoffed- as he walked up the lounge bar while he twisted the cap off his bottled water.

"Micky!" Mike and Peter exclaimed as the three exchanged hugs.

"How was the flight from LA to Paris?" Peter asked.

"Not too bad except they kept insisting on me putting the shade down and not looking out so they could show a movie I'd already seen- and hated," Micky sighed.

"San Juan to JFK then Rome were okay except for the turbulence over the French Alps," Peter offered.

"How long do we keep up the small talk?" Mike asked.

"Sorry, I'm just using it to keep from having to think. .." Peter gulped.

"I wish we didn't have to be meeting like . …" Micky groaned.

"I know. We ALL wish that but we're all here so before things get all crazy out there , let's toast him! "Mike proclaimed.

" You're right. To the Manchester Cowboy. He found us and spurred us to fame and fortune," Micky added.

"And gave us a crazy extended family. To Davy!" Peter concluded as he clinked his cup of mint tea to Mike's Turkish coffee and Micky's newly opened bottled water.

"To Davy!" Mike, Peter and Micky said together.

"Well, we can't spend our whole time in Malta hiding out in this lounge," Micky gulped.

"Yeah, we need to face the music!" Mike gulped.

"You make that sound as though that's a **bad** thing," Peter sighed as the three walked out with their suitcases and made their way to the Ground Transportation desk at the airport.

"You hired us a limo?" Mike asked.

"Nope. Got us our own van with GPS! " Micky smirked- as he picked up the keys at the counter and the folder with the directions to the garage.

"But last time you tried to drive us here. .. " Peter recalled.

"I know. Davy had to take the wheel because I couldn't make heads nor tails of all these labyrinths of Maltese highways, turnoffs and side streets,"Micky sighed.

"Yeah, who'd have thought there could BE so many different directions on one tiny island," Peter groaned.

"However; this time, I can't fail," Micky beamed- as the three walked with suitcases in hand to the garage and Micky made his way to numbered space the rented van was awaiting.

"Ya sure about that?" Mike asked.

"Of course. With my i-Pad and its GPS app, what could go wrong? "Micky asked as held out devise with his left hand while as he squeezed the with his right hand key to unlock the left front door.

"Micky," Mike sighed as he and Peter did facepalms.

"Hey! Why's the steering wheel on the _right_ side instead of the left?" Micky gulped.

Mike and Peter shook their heads.

"Oh, yeah," Micky gulped.

"Because, here in Malta, they drive on the left side of the road instead of the right!" Micky, Mike and Peter said together in a sing-song tone.

"How could you forget that disaster six months past?" Mike scoffed.

"Gimme a break. Can I help it that Davy chose to live in one of the few spots outside the UK that has the roads backwards? " Micky groaned.

"I'll drive," Mike insisted.

"But you haven't driven on Maltese or English roads," Peter gulped.

"True but sometimes on Texan Interstates, the traffic's gotten _loco _enough to force me onto the left side of the road," Mike replied- as he took Micky's keys.

. .

. .

After another hour [including a half hour trying to find their way to a parking spot], the three remaining Monkees arrived with Mike and Micky in black suits at the Villa Jones front door step which was sandwiched between a souvenir shop and a café on the cobblestoned, pedestrian part of Valletta's main thoroughfare of Republic Street.

It was a four story Baroque limestone masonry townhouse with an enormous, tall front door and a single tiny window facing the street on the ground floor but two large extended windowed enclosed balconies on the 2nd and 3rd floors with painted green frames and a several windows on the 4th floor.

"Well, this is it. Time to pay our respects," Peter gulped as he was ready to ring the doorbell.

"Now hold on, there. You can't go in there wearin' that Hawaiian outfit," Mike scoffed while grabbing Peter's green flower patterned shirt by the left shoulder.

"I was on a cruise ship when we got word and had to be helicoptered to San Juan. Sorry if I didn't think to pack a black suit while performing," Peter scoffed.

"Why do cruise ships anyway?" Micky asked.

" Intimate and captive audiences," Peter laughed.

"Yeah, like when you got booked on that **mosh pit** cruise a few years back and barely got outta there alive," Mike shuddered.

"I'll bet Miss Bookworm _loved_ that time," Micky laughed.

"Micky, Michelle Fortescue Tork got tenure decades before it got trendy for women to do so," Mike sputtered.

"It's okay, Mike. Michelle actually grew to _like_ Micky's nickname for her because she knew he wouldn't have tagged her if he didn't like her," Peter replied.

"True, even my Mercy got to like being called 'MUR-suh-deez' instead of 'Mer-SEH- des' like her family did or 'Mer-SAY-deez' like most folks. Where d'ya pick that up for Mercedes anyway?" Mike asked.

"That's how they pronounced that character on 'Kukla, Fran and Ollie'," Micky explained.

"Oh, yeah, an obscure character on a 50's kids' puppet show. Great tie-in, Mick," Mike snorted.

"Come on, Mercedes de Castillo de Coca y Segovia de Nesmith was a bit of a tongue twister," Micky scoffed.

"It wasn't too bad. Just hated it when folks told her to swim back to Mexico when her family came to Albuquerque from Spain a century before mine came to Texas," Mike groaned.

"Yeah, she was special, Mike. Peter, if Miss Bookworm were still around, she'd have made you pack a suit just like my Amanda would have," Micky scoffed- recalling Amanda Loveday Dolenz.

"True, she took care of me and even wrote her doctoral thesis 'Music: Indicator or Concealer of Genius' based on me," Peter beamed.

"Yeah, that was cool of her. Back to now, you still look too jammin' for the occasion," Micky sighed.

"What do you expect me to do? I can't go back and pack a suit now," Peter sighed.

"I remember when we never woulda thought to get on airplanes without 'em and now. .." Mike shuddered.

"Can we postpone this memory lane bit to another time- like to never?" Micky scoffed.

"Well, I guess I could go to the nearest department store and squeeze the platinum for a suit," Peter sighed.

"Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?" Micky asked.

"Well, it's been years since last time and there's no way it would work now that. . ." Peter sighed.

"Just try it," Micky groaned.

"Here goes nothing," Peter gulped as suddenly his green Hawaiian shirt, jeans and Birkenstocks got replaced by a black suit with white linen collared-shirt and black tie, black shoes and socks.

"Hey! I DID it! I've still got it. You don't think that. .." Peter gulped.

"Well, now that we've got Pete settled. How 'bout doffin' your _sombrero_ and lettin' your noggin breathe a bit outta respect, Mick?" Mike asked while tapping his own head.

"Mike, this _chapeau_ happens to look quite jaunty with the suit. Besides, don't you think _you_ should. ..?" Micky asked- as he pinched his fedora's rim.

"Uh-unh! I ain't doing that again!" Mike scoffed.

" Aw, come on, Mike. Ple-ea-ease?" Peter asked- as he touched his right index finger to his own head.

"Shotgun, I ain't worn that thing in ages and now's not the time. ." Mike protested.

"It may be the _best_ time. You were in one when Davy . .. when we **all** first met you and you wore that thing everywhere back then," Micky exclaimed.

"Well, it ain't happenin' now!" Mike started to scoff as he was ready to ring the bell- only to see Peter take a blue and and Micky take a green wool hat out of their respective suit pockets and hand them to him.

"Oh, all right but only 'cause I'm outnumbered an' don't wanna make a scene out here in the street," Mike groaned as he took the green wool hat Micky offered while the Peter rang the doorbell.

"_Sinjur_ Nesmith, _Sinjur_ Tork and _Sinjur_ Dolenz! How good of you to come!" exclaimed the 75-year-old grey haired, average height and grey suited retainer Pietru Axiett sighed as he opened the front door.

"Pietru, we've known each over some thirty years. You can call me Peter, "Peter sighed as the four of them started walking up the twisting wrought-iron metal stairwell to the large Parlor/Dining Room that looked out onto Republic Street via the extended balcony in front and onto the villa patio in the back.

"Sorry, but between the dear _Sinjura_ Sal Jones leaving us in August and now _Sinjur_ Jones," Pietru sighed.

"Yeah, and then a year before her, _Sinjura_ Simone Jones died," Mike added.

"Oh, yes, her. Well. . .we felt bad for _Sinjur_ Jones and the family to be sure," Pietru gulped.

"Simone wasn't a staff fave. Why am I not surprised?" Micky whispered to Mike and Peter with an eye-roll.

"Shh! We're about to see her kids and grandkids ag'in. No point muddyin' the water about their Ma while commiserating about their Dad," Mike warned with a whisper.

The parlor had a large number of formal and informal family portraits of the Joneses and fellow Monkees alike in all stages of life on the maroon patterned wallpapered walls. In the room seated around the 18th century, mahogany , inlaid marble dining room table and oak parlor coffee table was Davy's three children Solomon a CPA living in Denver, Avis a real estate broker living in Gainesville, Florida and Marvin a systems analyst living in New Hampshire- all in mourning clothes with their spouses and their collective eight children

"Uncle Micky, Uncle Peter, Uncle Mike. Thanks for coming!" the brunet 41-year-old Solomon Jones [6'4"] exclaimed- as he ran down the staircase of the Republic Street villa then leading them up the stairs to the parlor on the next floor.

"Uncle Micky! Where are the divas going to dervish this season?" piped up Davy's brunet 5-year-old grandson Jeffrey Jones Walters who , of all the grandchildren, resembled him the most.

"Jeffrey, don't be rude! " 38-year-old brunette [5'7"]Avis Jones Walters warned her elder son.

"Yeah, I was wondering the same thing,"Peter added.

"You watch that sh- .. .baloney?" Mike gulped.

"Hey! _Millions_ watch 'Dervishing Divas' to see their fave stars spin out and it got an Emmy nom two years past, Mr. Artsy . ..Schmartzy TV," Micky sneered- while leaping off the floor and doing a full 360 spin.

"Artsy Schmarty?" Mike chuckled.

"You okay, Micky?" Peter asked as Micky quickly grabbed the dining room table after doing his spin.

"Yeah, I can still leap and spin like I did in the 60's but the _landings_ remind me I'm in **my** sixties," Micky groaned while grabbing his newly sore left ankle.

"Sorry, Mick. I s'pose I miss ya hostin' 'Monkee That Melody',"Mike conceded.

"Who knew that 'Price is Right' would outlast it? At least it lasted long enough to put my five through Ivy League and royally provide for my Amanda ," Micky sighed.

"So can you tell us who the divas are or where they're spinning this season?" Peter asked.

"Small fry, can't tell you that! That goes for Jeffrey,too," Micky chuckled.

"Well, we truly appreciate you being here!" Solomon's 39-year-old wife Carol Kressler Jones insisted.

"We couldn't have been anywhere but here but we don't want to our presence to spur the press to overwhelm your grief at the funeral," Mike explained- as the three surviving Monkees hugged each of Davy's children and grandchildren.

"We owe him everything," Peter gulped.

"Yeah, if it weren't for him, I'd have wound up in juvie then the adult prison revolving door. He saved me from becoming someone I'd run away from," Micky gulped.

"I'd have been permanently homeless in another week if not for him," Peter gulped.

"Try another three days," Micky shrugged.

"And I probably woulda spent decades drifting 'round every garage in the Southwest- convinced my music was an empty pipedream," Mike admitted.

" Yeah, Dad helped all of us a lot. So, Uncle Micky, how's Uncle Schneider doing?" 35-year-old Marvin Jones [5'7" redhead] asked.

"The usual. He sends his best. Weird that he started out looking **older** than me," Micky shrugged.

"And Aunt Amanda?" Avis asked.

"Sis, don't you remember? She died last year!" Solomon recalled.

"Yeah, we've **all** been widowed these past three years," Peter sighed- pointing to himself and the others.

"And we all were married some 40 odd years, " Mike added.

" Yeah, ironic _we're_ in monkey suits these days," Micky tried to chuckle.

"Anyway, we want to pay our respects to him but don't want the press to overwhelm you all at the funeral on gettin' to us," Mike explained.

"Thanks. In fact, you could do us the favor and watch the villa while we're at St. John's for Dad's service in an hour," Avis Jones Walters proclaimed as she and her husband Colin straightened out Jeffrey's collar for his suit.

"Mom, why do I have to wear this ?" Jeffrey asked.

"How many times do I have to go over this? Out of respect for your Grandpa Davy," Avis replied.

"You know, your Grandpa told me the first night we met how he struggled against your Gran Sal as she straightened out his collar when they parted at the Manchester train station," Peter laughed as he kneeled down to talk to Davy's grandson.

"He did, Uncle Peter ?" Jeffrey Jones Walters laughed.

"Yeah, as much as he scoffed at it like you're scoffing at your own mother's help, I could tell he already missed her even though it had been only weeks since he'd last seen her," Peter recalled.

"Oh, we all miss Gran Sal. These months since her passing have been tough on all of us," 40-year-old Colin Walters [5'4"] sighed as he and the others motioned the surviving Monkees to sit down around the parlor table.

"It sure has," Marvin sighed.

"Yeah, she adopted us all. Do you think it's possible that Davy might have. .?" Peter started to ask.

"Peter! How could you suggest such a thing" Micky hissed.

"I didn't mean anything. Just that almost anyone who met her couldn't help but adore her and how often do you find folks like that?" Peter reflected.

"Yeah, and we know how sad it's bin since your mother's death two years past," Mike reflected.

"In spite of Mother Jones not being as easy to love as Gran Sal?" Colin asked.

"Colin! I know Mother wasn't the warmest person in the world but Dad loved her and, despite our. . . struggles, so did we," Avis sighed while Solomon nodded but not entirely spontaneously.

"Avis, why is these three flew in for Gran's funeral but only sent wreaths for Mother Jones? I don't think _they_ thought she was so great either," Colin scoffed.

"We couldn't understand why Davy. .." Micky started to laugh.

"MICKY!" Peter and Mike shouted together.

"Look, whatever else anyone could say about the late Simone Wentworth Jones, we don't deny Davy loved her and she loved him and that's **all** that matters now that they're together again. Isn't that **right**, Micky? "Mike exclaimed- not wanting to get put in the middle of this.

"Yeah right, " Micky snarled.

"How's the rest of the family doing?" Peter asked.

"We got plenty of phone calls, e-mails, and wreaths from Dad's father's family in Maryland and even some from Mother's side but nothing from Gran's side. Come to think of it, we've **never** heard from them," Solomon recalled.

"And you won't," Mike sighed.

"Why is that? I know that Gran was on her own until she had Dad but didn't any of her family ever reach out to her or Dad?" Avis asked while passing cups of tea to the Monkees.

"Yeah, back in '67 when we hit it big and were touring the UK! That's when everything hit the fan with them," Micky fumed before he took a slurp of his tea.

"What do you mean? "Solomon asked.

"I guess it was so unpleasant that Davy never wanted to talk about it -even with you three kids," Peter gulped .

"Really? What happened?" asked Marvin.

"Well, the crowds surrounding Ms. Jones's little council flat had to be held off by a police squad when he visited her for the first time in two years and introduced us," Micky recalled.

"She treated us like Davy's long lost bros from the start. I think I was her fave, though," Peter beamed.

"You were not. I was!" Micky protested.

"Boys! Not now! Anyway, no sooner than we'd all sat down for her homemade chicken pot pie and fresh brewed tea with clotted cream when her kin were let through the squad lines and things went south real fast," Mike groaned.

"What?" asked Colin.

"The same thing that happened with **all **our dysfunctional families who couldn't have cared less about us before they got wind of our fame and fortune," Micky groaned.

"What do you mean?" Avis asked.

"They showed up, barely faked wantin' to know Davy , then wasted no time in buggin' him and Mum Sal for cash!" Mike fumed.

"Then when Davy asked where they'd been and why they'd never done anything to help out him or Mum Sal when she needed it," Peter recalled.

"What did they say?" asked Marvin

" They sputtered a bunch of malarkey that even Peter could see through," Micky snarled.

"Hey!" Peter protested.

"Yeah, then they called her and Davy some awful names causing Mum Sal to cry. That's when Davy threw them all out saying no one made her cry- especially in her own house!" Mike boiled.

"And just like that Dad cut them off?" Solomon asked.

"Not exactly. Your dad said he'd be willing to give them a chance as long as they weren't expecting any handouts but that's when your great-grandfather Griffin, great-uncle Owen and great-aunt Dilys tried to blackmail him and Mum Sal," Micky fumed.

"Blackmail?" Solomon, Avis and Marvin Jones and their spouses all asked.

"Yeah, they threatened to blab about Mum Sal bein' an unwed mama to the rags but Davy told them that if they tried, he'd let the whole world know how they'd put a three-year-old girl in a workhouse just cos she was smaller than average and didn't think she could help provide for them," Mike boiled.

"How did Dad Davy know?" Colin Walters asked.

"Because he'd read the Ipswich workhouse admission transcript on her!" Micky fumed.

" No surprise that _that_ shut 'em up real fast!" Mike groaned.

"They were gone like that and never returned," Micky added with a snap of his fingers.

"Yeah, that's one reason why he brought Mum Sal here so she could be in a place where she could be healthy and loved without being harassed," Peter recalled – a bit cooled down.

"Yeah, Dad always took pride that he made sure the 2nd half of her life was smoother than the first," Solomon recalled.

"And that you three got good educations and a good start for your own families," Mike added.

"Mom! Is Grandpa Davy really in a box there?" Jeffrey asked.

"No. They haven't found . ..his remains but there are burying his beach towel, flip flops and waterproof cell that he left behind," Solomon Jones explained to his nephew.

"Mom, I really havta go? I still get nightmares from seeing Gran Sal in that box," Jeffrey cringed.

"How many times do we have to explain? We know how much you loved your great-grandmother and your grandfather and how sad it was to see her there but their spirits are free so you need to go with us to help honor your Grandpa," Avis scolded.

"Excuse me, Avis? I know this is not our business. . ." Micky started to say.

"That never stopped you before, Uncle Micky," Avis snapped.

Micky took a deep breath and then continued doing his best to ignore her response.

"But if Jeffrey and the other small fry don't want to go to this, I'm not sure **making** them would be what Davy would have wanted," Micky pleaded.

"Uncle Micky, I know you mean well but Jeffrey's sister and cousins have no problems in going and it wouldn't look right if. .," Avis scoffed.

"Man, you really **are** Simone's daughter," Micky scoffed.

"MICKY!" Mike and Peter yelled.

"Oh, yeah. Like yelling my name changes stuff! "Micky protested.

"Micky, please show some respect for Davy's family," Peter pleaded.

"I _am_! Look, Jeffrey just said he's had nightmares about Mum Sal and considering how he was even closer to Davy, I think it would just make things worse to force him into doing this," Micky pleaded.

"Avis, we could look after Jeffrey while you and the others are at the funeral," Peter offered.

"Uncle Peter, that's really not necessary," Avis scoffed.

"Shoot, the three of us have raised fifteen young' uns between us and got some fifty grandkids," Mike started to say.

" And in another six months, I'm going to be a great-grandfather!" Peter proclaimed.

"A great-grandfather?!" Mike and Micky gulped.

"Yeah, my oldest grandson Bobby and his girlfriend Chrissie got that going on," Peter explained.

"Isn't he, like, seventeen?" Micky recalled.

"Yeah and working at Burger Bums. Imagine- a grandson of mine working _there_. He's too young to be a daddy and _I'm_too young to be a _great-grandfather_," Peter groaned.

"You just turned 70,"Micky scoffed.

"Anyway, watchin' Jeffrey would be our way of helping you out and honorin' Davy," Mike offered.

"Are you sure, Uncle Mike?" Avis asked.

"Yeah. Besides, I think Ole Pietru and the other staff would like to go with you all to the service and we can tend stuff here," Mike pleaded.

"You sure you won't make a mess here?" Avis asked.

"Dad did tell us quite a few tales of living together with you three !" Solomon laughed along with Marvin.

"Well, they can't have **all** been true!" Avis snorted.

"Truth was often stranger- especially with the four of us," Micky laughed.

"Yeah, there were times that got so crazy that I imagined we were on a _television show _knowing we were on a television show. Isn't that the funniest. ?" Peter started to laugh while Mike and Micky looked at each other.

"Um. . Shotgun," Mike started to say.

"Whatever, Peter. Just let it be, Mike," Micky sighed.

"No one in our families could quite 'get' the trouble we got into –not even our wives ( rest their souls)," Peter sighed.

"Actually, my trouble sometimes came from the fact that my wife DID understand me," Micky gulped.

"Come on, Sweetheart. It's getting close to time. It'll be better to take them up on the offer," Colin pleaded.

" Sis, they did babysit us and Marvin a few times when we were small and none of us turned out bad," Solomon laughed.

"Not too bad," Marvin laughed.

"Oh, all right but don't get Jeffrey too wound up! We have to be flying back to Orlando first thing in the morning," Avis warned.

.

.

Another hour or so, the three surviving Monkees and Davy's grandson Jeffrey Jones Walters walked to the villa's inner plaza with two small stone benches flanking a small English-style flower garden surrounding a single orange tree.

"So, what's gonna happen to Gran Sal's orange tree?" Jeffrey asked- as he picked an orange from it.

"Well, I imagine whoever. . .gets the villa will take good care of it," Mike explained.

"Is that tree as old as Grandpa Davy?" Jeffrey asked.

"No, when he bought the villa for your Gran Sal some forty years ago, he had it planted so she'd be able to see fresh oranges growing on a regular basis," Peter recalled.

"Mom said she used to bug Grandpa for a swimming pool but. ."Jeffrey recalled.

"But he said there's no need for one with the whole Mediterranean at our feet," Micky laughed.

"Yeah, I always thought it funny he never put a toe in any water outside a bathroom but then as soon as he got to Californie, he took to the ocean like a fish," Peter laughed.

"Peter," Mike groaned.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, Jeffrey," Peter groaned.

"It's okay but how can everyone be **sure** Grandpa's not around?" Jeffrey asked as they started to walk back into the villa.

"Well, many folks believe that loved ones are always with us even they're no longer walkin'. .. " Mike tried to explain.

"I know about all that but how can everyone be sure Grandpa's not with us?" Jeffrey insisted.

"I know it's tough to think of him . . . not being here but all the authorities have concluded. …" Micky started to say.

"But how many times when you, Uncle Peter an' Uncle Mike lived with him, did you think he was dead?" Jeffrey asked.

"He's got a point," Peter pondered.

"Peter!" Mike sputtered.

"Well, Davy did love swimming and. .." Peter started to say.

"But it's been more than a week since he was last seen. No one could survive in the ocean an entire week. No one's that strong a swimmer," Mike scoffed.

"I'll bet Grandpa could!" Jeffrey protested.

"Grandpa Davy was in good shape but he was sixty-six years old and. .." Micky tried to argue.

"So? Gran Sal was eighty-eight when she died. Grandpa's got twenty-two years to the good!" Jeffrey insisted.

"Got any ideas, Mike?" Micky gulped.

"Look, young' un'. I know all this death talk's a downer. I think I hear a parade outside the front door. How about we watch it?" Mike suggested.

"OK, if you want," Jeffrey sighed.

"Why is my i-Pad getting all these beeps all of a sudden?" Micky whispered.

"Mine,too. You think we should check 'em before we go see. .. ?" Peter asked.

"Nah. Them i-Pads may come an' go but no matter how old ya get, there's nothin' like watchin' a parade and, lucky fer us, Malta has 'em in this here street 'most every day!" Mike laughed as the four of them walked through to the front door and saw a large group of Maltese soldiers marching in traditional guard uniforms while carrying banners with the Maltese national colors of red and white while trumpets and drums played.

"Them cheers are getting right loud as the calvary's gettin' closer!" Mike nearly screamed.

"You think they'd have never seen men on horseback before," Micky scoffed.

"Yeah, and they have parades almost every day down this street. Davy told me how much the family loved to open their parlor window and watch them together as they passed on the cobblestone street below," Peter recalled.

"WHOA! The noise is practically deafenin' as them calvary soldiers are gettin' here! Let's go inside!" Mike screamed as the crowd seemed to cluster around one horse in the back and the screams seemed to be concentrated around that particular horse.

"Yeah, it's almost as loud as when we toured when . … DAVY?!" Micky screamed as he saw for himself mounted on a white steed none other than 66-year-old Davy Jones- still clad in his red swimming trunks.

_A/N- Yes, I know that David Thomas Jones died in Florida on February 29,2012 of a heart attack and there's no chance he survived in the Real World but, hey, if the Monkees could otherwise impossible stuff in their heyday in their own Alternate Universe why wouldn't Davy Jones have been able to do the deed in MY Alternate Universe so I can have Davy Jones still alive in it if I wanna. _

"GRANDPA!" Jeffrey yelled as he bolted from the others and started grabbing Davy's leg.

"No, lad! Come up HERE! Nice of you and your uncles to come so I could give ya a ride!" Davy exclaimed as he started pulling Jeffrey up to the saddle.

"Davy, what's the meaning of this?" Mike asked somewhat flummoxed.

"Yeah, you put everyone including your family through the wringer thinking you were dead," Micky exclaimed.

"Yeah, your kids and your other seven grandkids are at your funeral!" Mike snapped.

"Like Tom Sawyer," Peter added.

"I didn't mean for that to happen but I was havin' such a good time swimmin' that I didn't want it to end so. .." Davy explained.

"So, you DID it, Grandpa!" Jeffrey cheered while giving Davy a high-five.

"Did what?" Peter gulped.

"Grandpa always said he loved Malta so much, he wanted to swim AROUND the whole island to see if it could be done!" Jeffrey laughed as they dismounted the steed.

"Aldo, could ya take George back to the ranch an' give 'im extra oats in his feed for his help?" Davy asked the 55-year-old ranch hand who'd accompanied them as he affectionately patted the 4-year-old stallion's head.

"_Iva, Sinjur_ Jones!" declared Aldo as he took George's reins and led him back to Davy's small ranch on the rural eastern Maltese coastline.

"You swam around the Island of Malta?!" Micky gulped.

"I sure did!" Davy declared as they all went back inside the villa.

"But the coastline's. .. 122 miles long!" Peter gulped as he saw the info on his i-Pad.

"An' before Mum and Simone would always talk me out of it but now. ." Davy chuckled.

"Tiny, you were in the water the **whole** time?" Mike gasped.

"Not exactly. Every evening I'd swim to shore and catch some sleep. Amazing how many pretty Maltese seaside _sinjuras_ were willin' to put me up for the night," Davy laughed while stretching his arms above his head and stretching his height on tip toes.

"Davy, they've declared you DEAD and everyone's gonna want some of this bling-bling," Micky sputtered while pointing to the villa behind them.

"Bling-bling?" asked Peter while Micky shrugged his shoulders.

"So what? I've made out the will, made good recommendations for the staff and the kids can sell this place off and use it for the grands' educations and their retirements," Davy shrugged.

"But you need to get yourself declared alive again to get rid of all kinds of headaches," Peter pleaded.

"Since when have the Monkees been defeated by red tape," Davy scoffed as they made their way to his bedroom in on the 4th floor back tower –which had a stunning view of the Valletta skyline, Grand Harbor and Mediterranean.

"Davy, you're not thinking clearly," Mike pleaded.

"Sure I am!" Davy scoffed as he put a red shirt, jeans and sneakers on.

"I know it was tough losing your Mum Sal and . .. .Simone but. ." Micky sighed.

"Yeah, but I bought this place so I could give Mum a real home an keep her toasty warm without coins for the heater an' Simone made it a grand spot indeed for the six of us! "Davy explained.

"Oh, yeah. I grant she could do that!" Micky grudgingly admitted.

"Yeah, I know she wasn't yer fave sister-in-law, Mick," Davy laughed.

"Well, she dissed my Cape of Many Colors at that first party she threw," Micky sniffed.

"Come on, Mick! _Everyone_ dissed your tablecloth," Mike laughed.

" It was cool back then! She didn't like your wool hat either," Micky recalled.

"Well, I still think we made better first impressions than ole Pete here," Mike laughed.

"The invitation said it was a 'come as you are party'," Peter protested.

"Why would Grandmother have had a problem with that?" Jeffrey asked.

"Can we tell him?" Mike asked.

"Sure, he ain't too sheltered," Davy shrugged.

"Because when Uncle Peter read the invite, he happened to be taking a bath," Micky groaned.

Jeffrey burst out laughing.

"And they wouldn't let me into swim class like that! How did you. ..?" Jeffrey struggled to ask while trying to catch his breath laughing.

"What can we say? Uncle Peter used quite a bit of Monkee Magic on that bit," Mike laughed.

"We know you didn't mean anything but did you really think that through?" Micky asked.

"Mick, no harm was done. But Simone never could quite look 'im in the face agin," Davy laughed.

"I promised never to read the mail in the bathtub again to avoid misunderstandings," Peter protested.

"Only _you_ could have had that happen, Pete," Micky laughed while banging Peter's back.

"Back to now- as Mick says. Ain't ya gonna see about straightenin' stuff out so you can keep your retirement nest egg from getting' cracked?" Mike asked.

"We made kings' ransoms with our music, had good, long marriages, nice families and were able to provide well but ever since Simone an' Mum got their rewards, I thought back to when I was most alive," Davy explained.

"What do you mean?" Micky asked.

"Mick, I know you've loved bein' a gameshow host, Peter's enjoyed singin' on cruise ships an' Mike's done great work with his ranch for abused kids but we've been ridin' on our coattails for too long," Davy sighed.

"But we're all past retirement age and. .." Mike sputtered.

"I know that but when did we feel most alive?" Davy asked.

"When we found each other and our dream then worked to make it happen ," Peter conceded while Micky and Mike nodded.

"Exactly! The decades since have been an easy slide an' I wouldn't trade a moment of it for the world but bein' rich and cushy ain't as good as seein' if we could make it with our music together,"Davy exclaimed.

"The journey is the destination. That's what you're saying, right?" Peter gulped.

"Exactly!" Davy exclaimed.

"But won't you miss Malta and. .. everything here?" Jeffrey asked.

"Little One, I'll always love Malta and, more importantly, I'll always love each an' every one of you little ones even more but there's more to life than sittin' on laurels," Davy exclaimed.

"Tell Jeffrey how Malta first inspired you when you were his age," Peter insisted.

"Yeah, I loved hearing that story!" Micky exclaimed.

"OK, I'd come home from me very first day of school- havin' just had me head flushed down the loo an' picked on cos of me size . .."Davy started to recall. . .

Manchester, 1950.

"Mum, they hate me bein' small. Why did God make us small? No good can come of it!" 5-year-old Davy Jones sobbed.

"Now, Luv. What did I say about God never makin' mistakes?" 28-year-old Sal Jones asked.

"Yes, Mum but . .." Davy protested.

"Did I ever ya about how an islan' even tinier than England gave me strength?" Sal asked.

"No, Mum," Davy sniffed.

"Well, when the War started getting' fierce, I'd spend time away from work watchin' the newsreels. Malta was a sunny land that had been a treasured colony of our Empire for more than a century but after France fell, it was the only friendly port for our fleet between Alexandria an' Gibraltar," Sal started to explain.

"What happened?" Davy asked.

"Them NAZI goons and their Italian Fascist chums set about to wipe that tiny island off the map so our fleet wouldn't sail on the Med'terranean and England would be starve. Every day they'd bomb it to make it part of their captive lands but them Maltese never gave up- not even when they had nearly no food and were usin' old buildin' beams for firewood,"Sal beamed.

"Really?" Davy asked.

"Yes, Luv. An' I got to thinkin' if that tiny island could survive against such overwhelmin' bullies all alone, so could I despite my size," Sal proclaimed.

"Did it survive along with you?" Davy asked.

"It did more than survive. It proved to be the needed back door for England to free North Africa, then Italy and finally Germany itself from them Fascists and NAZI bullies. An' King George himself gave the whole Maltese people a George Cross on account of their bravery which would prove vital to us winnin'!"Sal exclaimed.

"Do you think I could be like Malta for you, Mum?" Davy asked.

"You're far more than that, Luv, already!" Sal exclaimed as she hugged him.

"I'll go back to school an' I'll show them bullies that just cos I'm small don't mean they can pick on me and I'll be a hero one day!" 5-year-old Davy proclaimed.

. .

. .

Republic Street, Valletta, Malta- March, 2012-

"And here on the Grand Master's Palace Wall is King George's Proclamation set in stone. Mum an' me practically ran the whole way from the dock to find it the very first time we came 'ere in '68!" 66-year-old Davy laughed while showing it to his grandson and fellow Monkees.

"That's all quite inspiring but with all the Smartphone and Youtube pics snapped of you already, we need to think of how you're going to. .." Mike gulped.

"Yeah, but somethin' occurred to me swimmin' in that water. There's an ole sayin' in London that as long as there's ravens at the Tower, London'll never fall," Davy recalled as he pointed at a red-painted enclosed British style phone booth at a nearby outdoor café.

" Yeah, but what does that have to do with the price of tea in . .." Micky asked.

"Well, as long Monkees can fly, Monkees can never die!" Davy exclaimed.

"But. ..we can't do that anymore," Peter protested.

"Who says?" Davy shrugged.

"Remember Judy Garland? She told us she never wanted to see another flying monkey again!" Micky recalled.

"Now what would _she_ have had against flying monkeys?" Jeffrey asked.

"Actually, she put in quite a few extra adjectives and adverbs," Peter pondered.

"ONE extra term but quite a few variations of it- including some I'd have never imagined despite spending so much free time thinking of trying to make variations," Micky chuckled.

"With all respect fer her, she's not been . . around in decades so what harm. ..?" Davy asked.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Mike asked.

"What's all this 'you'? We're Monkees to the end! Come on, we're **all** flyin' outta here!" Davy exclaimed.

"But I'd look silly these days doing that!" Micky protested.

"So what? I look more like a garden gnome these days, but I still wear me trunks alone when swimmin'. Besides, everyone's figured out _why_ you're into hats nowadays," Davy laughed while tapping his own scalp.

"But what about Jeffrey here?" Peter asked.

" This'll be somethin' he'll never tire of tellin' his grandkids about and they'll never tire of hearin'! I'll bring him back in due time an' face all the music but in the meantime- we're MONKEEMEN!" Davy exclaimed as he lifted Jeffrey into his arms before suddenly all four of them were transformed into a caped quartet with 'M's on their chests and glasses.

Then all four of them leaped- and started to FLY into the sky above Malta while receiving a guided aerial tour from Davy carefully holding onto to his rather amazed grandson.

"I thought we'd never hear the end of it from Avis and the others and there's still quite a bit of red tape to contend with," Mike sighed an hour later- back in the air with the others above the Mediterranean Sea.

"My villa in Koper on the Slovenian coast isn't too far from here as the crow flies or maybe we could wing it to Ljubljana and pop into the Castle on the hill," Micky proclaimed.

"I wish I'd remembered this skill before I had to mess with Customs and Frequent Flier miles," Peter sighed.

"So, where are we off to, Tiny?" Mike asked.

"I'll decide when we get there but wherever it is, we won't be needin' Viagra!" Davy laughed.

"Good!" Micky proclaimed.

Suddenly, Micky turned beet red.

"That is it would be good for Peter and Mike. ..if either of them needed it . .for heart conditions which is what it was originally prescribed for," Micky gulped while Peter and Mike glared at him.

"Quit while you're behind. Your hat's long since flown off an' no one thinks ill of your noggin," Mike laughed.

"You realize we're doing this in a world where everything gets YouTubed and Skyped," Peter cautioned.

"Yeah, you think the New Millenials have a chance against us?" Davy asked with a laugh as they continued their flight.

_The End is Whatever The Reader Wants From This Point_

_Rest in Peace- David Thomas Jones and Godspeed to the surviving Monkees. You all made us believe in Daydreams and nothing can take that away. _


End file.
